Potions and Teenaged Muggles
by Tamara Evans
Summary: *NOW REVAMPED and edited!* Severus Snape is temporarily teaching Chemistry at a Florida high school, and things opt to get very... interesting. Adolescents and British wizards don't mix well...do they? Illustrations w/ Chapter 17!
1. The Chemistry Prof, uh, Teacher

**A/N: Well! This is the first updated edit, and over the next few days I will be going through every single chapter and updating the content. I wrote this so long ago, it needs some refining so that my fics and writing might mature with me. Hopefully the changes will make it a tad less self-indulgent, a bit more grown up, a little funnier, and overall a lot more readable! Thanks for your patience! xoxo**

**-Tam**

**DISCLAIMER:** Ahh, yes. I don't own any of it, for if I did I wouldn't be wasting my time writing dirty non-canon fics, nor would I be attending a suburban public school or driving an old Plymouth Neon with beat-up cow seat covers and bald tires.

* * *

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter One: The Chemistry Prof-uh, Teacher.**

I glare passively at the door of my home room, noting the familiar sight of beige chipped paint around the doorframe. _Winter break passed entirely too quickly,_ I grumble. As if responding to my grievance, the shrill first-period bell cuts through the early morning silence of the hallway. On cue, the half-conscious herd stirs, each of them dragging their carcass through the painfully fluorescent halls to class with enthusiasm reminiscent of the undead.

As I gather my bag, the conspicuous absence of our usual teacher triggers a smirk. The ever-active rumor mill has been fairly consistent as far as the gossip behind her sudden 'sabattical' is concerned. As the rumors go, Ms. Escha was driven to the brink of a nervous breakdown by her remedial students, going so far as bursting into tears before dismissing class early.

_Well. She was not particularly stable to begin with,_ I muse.

Naturally, a substitute would be in order until a permanent replacement could be found. My smirk widens to a smile; The Cranky Bitch was never the highlight of my morning, with her teaching style oscillating between meandering tangents and droning lectures. She _almost _single-handedly spoiled my love of chemistry by making her lessons _about_ as interesting as a Hawaii-Five O re-run.

My mention of the show sticks the theme music in my head, but my morning reverie is broken by a door slamming abruptly into my nose. I stumble back.

"Son of a…ugh! Ow!" I curse as my eyes begin to water. "Oh, that's lovely, it's bleeding," I manage to whine before my assailant roughly lifts my head to view the injury.

My watery vision reveals the face of who I assume is the substitute Chemistry Honors teacher, an older man with shocking black hair and eyes, and (so I assume) a penchant for swinging doors open with murderous rage. I wonder inwardly if he's Italian. His pale skin tells me he's likely not a Florida native and definitely not a fan of UV rays. Which begs the question: what the hell is he doing teaching in "The Sunshine State?" (Though a more honest state name might be the Penis of America, or maybe The Old People and Hurricane State.) I suppress a giggle at the idea of what his soon-to-be inevitable sunburn will look like once he's in my state for more than a week.

"Just a bit of blood. Go to the infirma- school nurse and get it taken care of," he orders, in a distinctly British baritone, far from the northern Yankee-speak I expected.

I almost smile. "Um, Mr...?"

"Snape."

"...Mr. Snape, we don't have a school nurse. Just an overworked secretary with some cotton and Pepto-Bismol, which she insistently administers to anyone with _any_ sort of health ailment. I doubt my nose needs Pepto-Bismol."

He doesn't even seem amused, and I'm slightly unnerved by the look of distaste he casts downwards to me. While I'm a fairly tall girl at 5'10", a man standing at the _very_ least 6'2" effectively towers over me. His glowering begins to make me fidget.

"Well, then, I suppose you'll have to plug it up before the bell rings. Go." He says shortly, waving me away- shooing me, actually- with an elegant hand.

That I do, and I make it back to class in the nick of time, reaching my stool as the bell rings. Morning chatter commences despite the official beginning of class, and I squirm in my seat at the distinctly displeased look crossing the face of the dark man in front of the classroom. He seems to be waiting for something...

The sound of morning updates on the latest gossip resonates from the pair of girls seated unfortunately next to me, and I take a self-indulgent opportunity to eavesdrop: "...that she'd be going in. I was like, 'I'm sorry, Annie, but there is no way I'm going to be seen in public with you if you're carrying a Gucci bag from two _years_ ago. I mean, classic is one thing, but seasonal?!"

"Oh my God, what was she thinking? That's, like, so ch-"

My feminism-affirming dabble in the lives of Julie Mead and Jennifer Antwan is interrupted by the unexpected bellow of an angry-sounding teacher.

"Everyone kindly take your seats, materials out and mouths shut," he speaks over the din of conversation. Well. He's certainly set the mood. "Now, I do not expect any of you to obtain as profound an understanding of the subject matter as is necessary for full appreciation of it. I expect rather, that by now the majority of you would have neglected enough class and ignored sufficient lecturing to have missed the substance and subtleties of Chemistry entirely, if I am to assume that the preceding instructor provided the proper materials to begin with. However, any plans you may have concocted for slipping by without doing any actual work will be foiled, just as any expectations you may have concerning my teaching methods or lack thereof may heretofore be put to rest."

The sudden outburst, though lacking tremendous volume, did quite well what it was intended to; any remaining conversation in the class ceased, and all eyes, make-up smeared or bloodshot, were on the speaker. I looked briefly over to 'Jules and Jen' and stifled a giggle at the shocked look on Julie's face, make-up compact in hand, lipstick hovering near her partly open mouth.

"You will not speak unless spoken to," he continued, barely missing a beat, "you will do what work is assigned as classwork _in_ _class_, and what is assigned as homework at your personal residence. No late assignments will be accepted, and lack of punctuality will warrant detentions, per school board policy. Let me be clear: you must be in your seat by the bell's chime, else you will be marked _late._"

He scanned the classroom with a very effective glare for good measure before going on, "I do not tolerate horseplay, and I will not be subjected to disrespect of any kind; likewise what you give in terms of attitude will be what you receive from me. If anyone feels my rules unfair, or is insistent upon transgressing them, please feel free to escort yourself down to your Administrator's office."

I swallowed hard. It would be a very long chemistry class.


	2. Apparently, Popularity Isn't Everything

**DISCLAIMER:** You're still here? Well, aren't you a brave little muffin.

* * *

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Two: Apparently, Popularity Isn't Everything.**

The idea of having to _do_ work rather than shirk it was less than appealing to the vast majority of the class. Mr. Snape had appropriately finished his 'laying-down-the-law' speech with an assignment; a review packet twenty-two pages long.

The none-too-bright Jessica Antwan soon decides that our temperamental substitute was only joking, and proceeds to chatter.

She turns to Julie and I cringe, knowing what's coming.

"He's got a stick up his ass, huh?" She stage whispers.

Julie shrugs, "Yeah. Whatever. With his attitude, complaints will follow. I'm sure he'll be reigned in once the principal catches wind of his medieval methods. A few calls from my mother, and…" she trails off, making her point, and smiles sweetly. Ugh.

I watch as Snape rises and sort-of saunters over to my row. I try to look _incredibly_ busy.

"Miss…." He looks at his roll sheet, "…Mead," he drawls, his carefully controlled anger evident in his seething tone.

"Yah?" Julie retorts, flipping her bottle-blonde hair and meeting his gaze with the as much insubordinate attitude as she can muster.

I see his jaw clench, the muscle jumping.

"Can I help you?" She continues, playing as if she doesn't notice his anger, or just doesn't _care_.

If there is one person who, throughout my tenure at this school, I can remember being recklessly brazen with strict teachers on a regular basis, it was the blue-eyed bitch sitting adjacent to me.

"Tell me Miss Mead, do you _enjoy_ being insubordinate? Does it make you feel _provocative_ and non-conformist?" he asks, jeering her a bit, much to my surprise and amusement.

"Huh?" She says, her eyebrows shooting up, and I'm not sure if she's _playing_ dumb or simply doesn't know what 'provocative' means.

"Well, it seems to me that you have a penchant for instigating. If you have any reason to think I will hesitate in giving you a detention, Ms. Mead, please allow me to set the record straight. You will serve detention today, immediately after school." He finishes his last few words with an aloof intonation, far more effective than any venom Julie might attempt to sling his way.

Julie pauses, and proceeds to be the brash idiot I've come to expect.

_Oh dear._

"Today?? _Excuse me,_ but I have dance class after school today," she states, matter-of-factly, "And unless you want to explain to my mother that her money is being _wasted_ because some new teacher decides he doesn't like me-" she flips her hair again for dramatic effect and I roll my eyes, "…or want to end up explaining yourself to the Principal, I suggest you rip up the detention slip in your hand, Hitler."

It's all I can do not to face-palm at her outburst. _Oh, good God. Seriously? Hitler? _Really_?!_

I'd expect something to be thrown (Julie if I'd had my way). I'd expect a screaming match, or perhaps cool deference from the ballsy substitute. I would have even been satisfied with an administrator, or security, being called. But…no.

The recently attacked teacher smirks- he actually _smirks_, an expression far more sinister than should be legal, and simply fills out the yellow slip in his hand. Julie's expression is no less than priceless. She is, after all, quite accustomed to getting her way.

He places it in front of her, adding quietly, "See you after class, then. Send your mother my salutations."

With that, he turns swiftly and walks back to the front of the classroom. The class sits in stunned silence for a moment, not yet recovered from the impressive show of wills.

_Oh, wow. Okay. Ballsy. Oh, that was _good_._

"Get back to work!" He sneers. He's promptly obliged as pencils start scribbling across pages again.

I listen as Jessica leans over to her counterpart and whispers, "What's a 'salutations'?"

_Ugh._

~~*~~

The rest of the class is relatively uneventful, and as I exit I hear the chatter around me on our latest public enemy.

"…_believe_ that he said that?!"

"I would have told him off….."

"…did you see his hair, it was so…"

"...my ass is numb…"

_Whoops. Wrong conversation._

I walk through the crowds slightly faster than most, greeting the occasional acquaintance. I'm up in my head, as usual, wondering just how long this new teacher will be with us, excited at the prospect of seeing more shut-downs like this morning's. I proceed to second hour with a smile in the place of my usually blank or somber expression.

_I wonder where he came from…_

*^*^*

_I cannot believe I ALLOWED myself to be talked into this._

_What an _atrocity_, what a mess._

_First, I nearly break a student's nose and am promptly informed there is no proper medical care at this institution. Then, I'm kindly greeted by a roomful of rowdy hyenas that are supposed to be honors students. Are these traits common to muggle adolescents, or just the Americans? Certainly wizarding children are better behaved._

_What an atrocity._

_I have to re-teach what the former instructor couldn't spoon-feed to these children the first time around, and secondarily act as a babysitter to students worse than my own. Which says something, considering the behavior of my first-years._

_What an atroci-_

"Helloooo?!"

I'm torn from my brooding by a distinctly familiar female voice, one I cannot quite place. I look up slowly, seemingly unconcerned, and my heavily-lidded eyes meet those of the same sarcastic young woman I injured earlier in the day.

"Can I help you?" I cannot think of any reason for her to be in my classroom after school. I certainly didn't give her a detention, and all other pupils fled my presence as quickly as they could once dismissed.

"Um, yes, well, I- uh"

"Out with it."

"Right. I'm here to use the lab to complete my service project, a, uh, a community project for the upcoming Chamber of Commerce sponsored Science Fair. And my partner should be here shortly, his name is Jonathan Mead, but that's not really important, well, uh, wh-what is that I was hoping someone left you a note or something about how we use the lab after school, you know for the, uh, the service project. I was, well, I was almost done before break, and I was sure the Department Head would have told you, but well, apparently not. Ha, but, anyway, we'll be fine without supervision, we just need a few hours here, for, um, for the, the-"

"…for the service project," I finish unenthusiastically for the rambling girl. Though she was one of only two students who managed to complete the assignment in class today, her academic prowess does not seem to flow over into her social or speaking abilities. Well, not when addressing me, anyhow. She's rather amusingly reduced to a blubbering idiot in this instance, and I can't shake the feeling it has something to do with my intimidation tactics so aptly applied in class this morning.

_That's nothing new._

"Yes, well. Hm, I guess I've made that clear…" She smiles sheepishly at me and I can see the swollen area around her nose.

_That must've hurt._

She walks to the glass cabinets at the far side of the room as another student comes in, a young man who I assume is Jonathan Mead. I know that last name all too well. I notice the time, and as I expected my first detention victim is overdue. The other thirteen detention recipients have shown up precisely on time.

I call the young man over.

"Would you happen to have a sister by the given name of Julie?" I inquire distastefully.

"Um, yessir...oh, you're that teacher from this morning. Heard all about it. Well, she's not coming. She went off to dance class because Mom told her to."

"Oh?" I feel my temper begin to **scratch** at my collected exterior.

"Yep. And, I know it's none of my business-"

"How perceptive of you," I interrupt, not too keen on hearing his take on the situation.

The young man has the good sense to look somewhat abashed. "Right, well. I'm not a sucker for trouble like she is, so I'll stop while I'm ahead. But, Sir, Julie has a way about getting what she wants. Mom doesn't exactly discourage her."

"Well, good thing your mother isn't in charge of discipline at this establishment, Mr. Mead, or spoiled delinquents like your sister would run amuck unchecked," I declare, and he nods his head in agreement. I see the stammering wonder glance up from her task of arranging lab equipment, and she quickly turns her back on us so as to create the illusion that she is _not_ eavesdropping. "Well, you may proceed with your project."

_Dance class. These Americans indulge their offspring in the worst kind of idiocy. How did Dumbledore talk me into this? 'Good learning experience,' he tells me, 'You'll appreciate Hogwarts more,' he says. _

I sigh. What's done is done. I cannot weasel my way out of it now. I've at least a full week of this misery stretching out endlessly before me. I glance at the thirteen silent culprits in front of me.

_What. An. Atrocity._

_

* * *

  
_

**Author's Note: **Well, I hope you're getting the jist of things, as I'm developing this nonsense in my head. I only hope you're enjoying this so far. Don't worry, you'll get more Snape.

Oh, **BTW,** yes, this is shameless self-insertion, only "I" am "me" 100%; flaws and all. The supporting characters are actual representations of people I know, and I'm sure you've known them as well, in one form or another, at one time or another. If we have anything in common, you probably weren't big fans of them either.


	3. The Classroom of Secrets

**DISCLAIMER:** I wrestled a monkey.

* * *

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Three: The Classroom of Secrets.**

I tried to hold my tongue. I _really_ did. Sadly, after the third day of listening to senseless Snape-bashing I finally lost it….

It was during lunch. Two faceless classmates were giggling not two seats down from me, and I could barely make out what they were saying- but it clearly involved Mr. Snape and a number of insults. I laid down my book and glared at the recent distractions, failing to gain their attention though they clearly sensed my intrusion.

I'm confrontational. They aren't. So I cleared my throat, saying "'Scuse me."

"What?" Spat the brunette, Rachel Klasse.

"You know, not that I don't love listening to you guys complain about the latest road bump in your novel-worthy melodrama, _but _I'd like to point out that: one, Mr. Snape hasn't actually _done _anything to any of you personally, and two, has it not occurred to you that in the last few days we've been learning? Honestly learning- way more than we might have in a month's worth of Ms. Escha's instruction. I mean honestly-"

My long-time acquaintance Ryan stopped me, "Listen, Evans, I had an A in Chem when that bitch Escha was here. Yes, she was an idiot. And you're right, class was a cake walk."

What he failed to mention was how his devastatingly good looks got him by with some of the female teachers more times than seems fair. I tried not to look like I was staring as he went on, "But that is what we _counted_ on when choosing our schedules. I have AP classes which actually _need_ my attention. Now that this guy's shown up, there is a serious chance my grade point average could drop, or I'll have to give up an extracurricular to keep up. The sooner he's replaced, the better."

I frowned at him, incredulous. "Christ, Ryan, you're so concerned with your GPA, I mean, okay, you're right, the likelihood of anyone in the class becoming a freakin' chemist is about nil," Rachel and Ryan nodded, finally hoping I was getting the point, "But I, for one, am interested in the material. This shouldn't be about the easiest way out, guys."

Melissa, Ryan's girlfriend, piped up at that moment. When she talks, I usually listen, because the girl tells it like it is. "Tamara, I hear you, I do. I have to point this out, though: your moral high ground is a lot easier to maintain because you're a natural at this stuff. You and I don't struggle in Chem, or Physics. Neither does Amy, or Pete, but Amy's asian and Pete is a freak of nature…"

At this, I laughed, and she smiled back at me. The only thing I hate about her more than her gorgeous looks and sharp intellect is the fact that she's too nice to dislike.

She sighed, "But you must consider their point of view. He is being unreasonably harsh, and can you imagine being _this close_-" she held up her manicured fingernails, her thumb and forefinger within a hair's breadth of one another, "-to an Ivy League admission and having _one_ B force you to attend a state school?"

I considered her point. And really, I can't deny that my integrity in this situation might be purely the benefit of a scientifically-oriented brain; that if this was another situation entirely, with, say, History class, I might not be so apt to defend a ruthless professor.

"Well, what I think we can both agree on is that if you can't buckle down for when someone like Mr. Snape comes along, you probably don't belong at an Ivy League school to begin with."

Ryan's face went a little pale, and Melissa smirked, returning her attention to her food. Rachel just glared at me.

I rolled my eyes at her as I got up to leave.

"See ya." I said over my shoulder, and I heard Melissa chuckling as I headed off to my next class.

_Thank GOD he isn't teaching history._

_

* * *

  
_

The only thing that keeps me from using magic on these twerps is the knowledge I'll be out soon. The school has apparently found a replacement who can start in two weeks, and I'll be returning to Hogwarts and the wizarding world for the remainder of the summer, what little of it is left.

I wonder what sort of genius Muggle came up with the idea of year-round schooling. It's absolutely ridiculous. I do not see how teachers put up with the children all year round- I'd likely go mad and begin throwing glassware.

_Not as though I don't sometimes have the urge._

I sit as students file into my classroom on the fourth day of my sentencing to 'horizon expanding Muggle Studies.' The bell rings and I take role, listening to the various muffled responses of "here" and "yeah."

_Not all that different from my own students._

I instruct the mindless drones before me to gather ingredients for an advanced Oxidation-Reduction Reaction Lab. As I pass out the sheets- I've become accustomed to the thin, flimsy, rather poor replacement for parchment muggles use- a student abruptly bursts into class, no less than twenty minutes late.

I'm nearly shocked at who I see.

* * *

OhGodOhGodOhGodohhhhhhhhh…

God.

I burst into class no less than ten minutes late and the look on Snape's face is perpetually burnt into my memory.

_Oh, that glare. Where did he learn to do that?_

The look on my classmates' face is more on the amused side.

My imminent detention will be my first. Sixteen years with a pristine record, and one accident on Royal Palm Boulevard _ruins_ it. Damn traffic. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

"Ms. Evans, if you please," Snape summons me to his desk and steadies what I'm certain is his sternest look at me. "I would inquire as to the reason behind your tardiness, but sadly I cannot seem to muster the appropriate amount of curiosity. I shall see you after school."

_That you shall._ I fight the urge to groan, my eyes trailing the floor as I find my seat.

* * *

"Whaddaya mean, _late?!_" Julie shouts from the front of the class. Though over the last few days students have learned to tread lightly and detentions have been cut in half, Julie has not been able to avoid being obligated to serve her double detention plus a Saturday, despite the protests of her supposedly "all powerful" mother.

I scoff aloud. The amazing man manages to hand her yet another detention, this time for being late to a detention initially given for not attending detention.

"Would you like to add something, Ms. Evans?" Snape turns his dagger-like onyx gaze to me, obviously hearing my little outburst.

My courage falters and I shake my head like a frightened child, "N-no, sir."

As the room empties an hour and a few reprimands later, I approach Mr. Snape's desk.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He looks up, very visibly annoyed, "Yes?"

"Well, I, uh, I-"

"Do feel free to overcome your speech ailment NOW, Ms. Evans."

"Can I use the lab tomorrow to finish off the project?" I blurt.

"If you can manage to clean up after yourself and not break anything horribly important, I don't see why not," he says, almost regretfully.

"Great," I flash him a bright smile and turn to leave, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

And then it happens.

My bag catches on the nearby rack of beakers and test tubes and stirrers- pretty much all breakable things out for the lab- and I proceed to pull the entire rack to the ground. I wait for the inevitable sound of smashing glass and mortification…

…and wait…

…and wait…

…and- wait?

It does not come. I open my eyes and my jaw drops at the scene before me.

Mr. Snape's hand is out, fingers splayed as if he holds an invisible volleyball in his hand, and he has an intense look of concentration on his face. His hand is poised under the rack of glassware, though not in physical contact with it, which seems to be stuck in a sort of limbo in mid-fall. He whispers something and the rack returns to its pre-encounter-with-a-clumsy-idiot state.

I'm aware that my mouth has not yet closed.

A long silence falls, and he is the one to break it.

"I would guess you have noticed I'm not from around here, Miss Evans, bright as you can annoyingly be," he says, an undertone in his voice of- worry? –amusement?

"Uh," I note that my sentences all too often begin with that idiosyncrasy, "Yes… I did."

"I'm sure I can trust that you will keep this incident to yourself," he levels me what tops his worst glare, "_can't I?_" His tone is enough to send shivers down my spine, though whether it's from the silken baritone of his voice or the note of threat twined therein, I'm unsure.

For some reason, I scoff, losing my usual reservations. "Oh, yeah, who'm I gonna tell? My _best friend,_ Julie? The ever-thick skulled Jessica? Oh, I know, the blonde guy that sits behind me and throws things at my neck just to see me get angry."

He scowls at me, and I continue. "Listen, whatever kind of voodoo or magic or witchcraft-"

"_Wizardry,_" he corrects, much to my amusement.

"_-wizardry_ you practice, I don't really care. I just want to get out of here with my sanity, my degree, and possibly my pride, though my peers seem to be chipping away at that last one."

He waits a long moment, and I fear what is to come. Eventually, the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, and it's probably the most rewarding moment of the week for me.

"As do I, Ms. Evans. Perhaps we can reach an arrangement."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ah, well, I needed a gimmick, right? Wizard at muggle school obviously wasn't going to cut it. Yes, that is a bit of wandless magic Snape does there, because he's a BAMF at magic and can do shit like that.

You know. That's Severus. Doin' wandless magic.

Like a BOSS.

Any suggestions? Lemme know. Reviews are cool. Like a boss.


	4. Dumbledore, The Con Man

**DISCLAIMER:** Have you ever been abducted by aliens?

…are you _sure_?

**Note:** The ** indicated either a flashback or when someone is simply remembering something. The tense change should be enough to make that clear, but the ** denotes the events are not happening in the present. Just wanna make that clear! :) kthxbai

* * *

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Four: Dumbledore, The Con Man.**

I remember my actions now, casting the same damn spell I had caught many of Neville Longbottom's ill-fated bottles or beakers with. It was just a reflex, but one that was oh so inopportune.

I think the only reason I did not charm her memory of the incident away was the image in my mind- a memory of the look on the girl's face during most of my lessons: interested, focused, eager to learn; not half-asleep and drooling like the lot of the dunderheads. So, I had a moment of uncharacteristic weakness for a muggle. _Damn._

We made a deal...

**

"I can't have any detentions on my record. Not if I want to graduate with my full honors and perfect attendance award. I've come to school with mono in pursuit of that award. Is there any way you can wipe out the one I just served?"

I sneered my best sneer, but she stood her ground, unfazed. _Great, an irresponsible muggle version of Hermione Granger. _"Consider it done," I spat.

"Good. Great. And I guarantee that no one, not even my stuffed animals, will hear about this incident," she said cheerily, and smiled.

They say smiling is contagious…wait, or is that yawning, or a good mood- well, no matter. Her upbeat demeanor was not catching, and it's a good thing, because I am not one for smiling. I'd sooner catch Ebola or some such hemorrhagic fever before I brim at the edges with joy. It just does not suit me.

I continued to glare and said only, "I warn you, Ms. Evans, that if this occurrence is so much as murmured to your _favourite_ stuffed animal, you _will_ suffer the consequences."

She smiled again. Damnit, I wish she'd stop being so obliviously happy. "Understood, Mr. Snape… _if that is your real name._" And then she winked, _she winked_ at me!

"Get out," I snapped. She left in a very ill-conceived fit of giggles.

_Oh Dear Merlin._

_**  
_

Now, on a **god-awfully humid** Florida Friday, I sit in class- _her_ class, and wait tirelessly for the bell to ring.

A well-manicured hand shoots up in the air, tan and orange on the palm from some awful self-tanning formula, and robed in all manner of no doubt _expensive_ jewelry the beholder did not purchase themselves.

"_Daddy's sweet money," indeed._

The hand belongs to Julie Mead.

_Hand away from your wand. Do_ not _hex the muggles. No muggle hexing._

"Yes, Ms. Mead?"

* * *

"Umm," the bratty blonde next to me says, giggling along with her protégés, "I was just wondering- well, do you ever like, ya know, wash yer hair?"

_Really? Really?! _I turn to stare at her, shocked despite myself. If there is one thing that everyone knows about Julie, aside from her loose morals and even looser grasp on reality, it's her penchant for being plain _nasty._ She is the person who delivers low blows and says the most uncalled for things. She's just…_mean._

At this point, the look on the wizard's face at the head of the class is no less than demonic. I find myself again waiting for something to be thrown or set on fire or whatnot.

He strides to my row of desks yet again and gives Julie a detention slip. I find myself admiring his self-control; were I in his place, I would have cursed her into next Sunday. Not verbally, I mean, _magically_. Julie looks at the detention slip.

And slowly, dramatically, she rips it up.

He gives her another one.

She repeats her defiance.

And another.

In shreds on the floor. I wonder silently if she's _actually_ gone brain dead from all of those peroxide fumes.

The bell rings and the captive audience quickly evacuates. Julie only continues to level her blue-eyed, mascara-laden glare at Snape. I'm frozen in my seat, and much to my surprise I watch as Snape pulls his wand from a cleverly concealed pocket in his sleeve.

_Oh, what's he gonna do…_

He points the 'weapon' at each demolished detention slip, whispering "Reparo," at each, and they _mend themselves._ He then whispers something else which floats them up, placing the slips directly in front of Julie.

The look on her face has changed from steely determination to dumbfounded fright. I sit perfeclt still, not knowing what to do.

"Fill them _out,_ Ms. Mead," he drawls, dangerously.

She ignores his demand, moving to stand up, "Y-you, you're a wiccan, some kind of cult-member, aren't you?! Y-you practice black magic and shit, worship the devil and make sacrifices, you sicko- oh, oh, and I bet you're in on it, huh, Evans?" She turns to face me and I stay frozen, my eyebrows shooting up.

"Uh-"

This distraction gives Snape enough time to cast some other spell I don't catch, making Julie look sort of... shocked for a moment.

"Kindly leave, Ms. Evans. Oh, and while you're at it, please escort Ms. Mead and _all_ of her detention slips to the nurse's station for some cotton and Pepto-Bismol. She'll be needing it, I think."

"What did you-?" I begin.

"She's fine, just a small lapse in memory. Now _leave,_ before I lose my _temper._"

I simply nod and grab Julie's books. "Come on, Jules."

* * *

Oh, what I would've done had she been my own. Scrubbing out bedpans in the infirmary for a month, 100 points deducted…and what was that about my hair-? I run my fingers absently through it and detect nothing awry. I begin to rifle through paperwork for my next class, third period.

I notice that 'Jules' has left her make-up compact on the desk. I use summon it to me, and then drop it mid-way, hearing the satisfying 'crack' of breaking glass.

"Whoops. Oh, dear. Must've lost my concentration," I muse aloud.

I smile inwardly, but my satisfaction over this small victory is quickly usurped by the misery which has been my constant companion since coming here. I mentally kick myself again, remembering how I was put in this situation in the first place, just over two weeks ago.

**

I was summoned up to Dumbledore's office the last Friday of school, and with the complete lack of any activity on the war front as of late, I knew his calling on me would mean one of two things: either there was new information on the Dark Lord's activities (which I was not yet privy to- the unlikely option, as such) _or _he was going to try to con me into some extracurricular summer activity I would loathe to keep me occupied. How right I was.

"Severus, do come in."

"Headmaster," I nodded in greeting as I sat down.

"I have an… _interesting_ preposition for you, Severus."

"Well, skipping all of the formalities today, are we Albus? Just getting right down to the coercion," I said with a hint of amusement. Albus picked up on our usual banter, responding in kind.

"Yes, I figured I wouldn't waste your time on tea," he smiled at me, the glimmer in his eyes a tad more devious than usual.

"Out with it, then," I encouraged.

"I know how much you love the school, Severus, whether you'll admit it or not. I also know that your thirst for knowledge and experience is as fervent as it has always been. What I'm offering you is an immersion in one area which will expand your understanding and insights of it exponentially."

Such grandiose claims…my wariness grew then, as I could not imagine what area I might be so steeply lacking in that immersion would spell the answer to bringing me up to speed. In retrospect, the answer was blaringly obvious. It seems I merely lacked imagination.

"Oh? And what subject would that be, Headmaster?" I asked, knowing full and well he'd edd me on until I asked outright.

"Muggle Studies."

If I'd had tea I would have spit it out. "Albus, I know you're not suggesting I do a 'muggle-invasion' like those strange sort from the Ministry, living amongst those people!" I had the nerve to sound angry at the suggestion. "What is it they call them?"

"Ah, yes. I believe the term is 'Undercover muggle bugger,' hm, an unfortunate nickname, and not accurate in the majority of cases…" he said thoughfully, shaking his head before continuing.

Albus then did his annoying I-know-something-you-don't eye-twinkling thing at me. "Severus, you will have a fuller appreciation of Hogwarts should you agree to what I'm requesting. All I ask is that you teach, for one or two weeks at_ the most_, at a muggle High School."

I fought the urge to guffaw. "What?"

"You'd be teaching chemistry for advanced muggle children- I've seen your library, dear boy, and you're well read on all disciplines of chemistry."

A long silence ensued and I wished I hadn't answered his summoning in the first place- I knew once Albus Dumbledore asked something of me I could hardly ever deny him.

"For me, Severus?" His gentle voice echoed in my head as I fought another urge to ring his fragile neck. Oh, how sadistic of me.

"And only for you, at that, Headmaster."

I didn't find out until later that it would be an _American_ suburban High School with a very… interesting mix of students.

_Albus, you shall pay, my dear friend._

_**_

My third period class files in drudgingly, breaking my reverie. An older-looking freshman dressed in more black than even _I_ can conjure most days has the audacity to glare at me. I count at least _seven _metal rods passing through various patches of skin on his face, and his complexion is no doubt the result of his poor relationship with soap.

It is days like these I have the confidence to think myself good-looking.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh, but you are, dear Severus, are you ever!! Well, I had planned to wrap up shortly, with a nice plot twist and so on, but I'm having too much fun. Not much more drudging on though, before we get to the fun parts. There will even be a Severus v. Muggle Country Music run-in! Stay tuned, my dear readers.

I lurvs yew.


	5. Tea, Alan Jackson and Crappy Vehicles

**DISCLAIMER:Take** your disclaimer and shove it up [CENSORED.] 

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Four: Tea, Alan Jackson and Crappy Vehicles.**

Muggle forms of transportation are utterly impractical. And that's putting it _incredibly_ mildly.

I curse under my breath for what must be a record number of times in a minute, and absently kick the hubcap of my rental muggle vehicle. Dumbledore has insisted I act as a 'real' Muggle instructor, though at this very moment I would rather be burned at the stake for being seen riding my broom from the school than be dealing with this predicament. 

Few vehicles remain nearby, as most students have gone home, though a few remain for extra-curricular activities. My vehicle is parked, hood propped open, smoking emolliating from its useless form. Considering my lack of knowledge on rudimentary locomotive engines, my magic is futile. 

'_Screw formality_,' I think, as I undo my tie and loosen the top buttons of my dress shirt. The unpleasantry of my situation is suddenly and brutally compounded upon with the sighting of one of my _favourite students- Ms. Evans._

She's sweaty and flushed, just freshly dismissed from track practice as it would seem, and coming straight towards me with a suppressed smirk in her eye.

"Uh- Sir? Do you need a ride?"

I pretend not to notice her. She quickly picks up on this.

"Right then. You might be needing fifty cents, in that case, for the bus-ride to wherever you currently call home. Public transportation really can be fun, considering that's what about a quarter of the students at this school use. I'm sure they'll be glad to have you!"

Her sarcasm does not amuse me, but, regretfully, has it's intended effect. She stands near me, expectantly. I still cannot bring myself to say anything, though I look at her with remote interest. There is a long silence. She sighs.

"Sorry. I know I'm an unnecessary wiseass. Just- let me give you a ride? The bus-stop is a long walk from here…."

I hate her so much right now.

**%-%-**

…I was going to add in a quip about riding a broom, but I knew then he just might take the bus ride option, and I'd have felt like an ass.

So now I sit in my white Dodge Neon with its disproportional large ass-end and my oh-so-fashionable cow-print seat covers with an incredibly witty wizard in the seat next to me, and his cologne is making me loose my concentration as I fumble with my numerous key chains and start the ignition. 

He has a unique smell, of something musky and old-fashioned, and a regal aura about him of a world I'll surely never have the opportunity to see. I snap from my reverie and turn to look at him, noting the undone buttons of his deep maroon dress shirt.

_Don't start that again, Tamara_.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"Head out, take a right. At Wiles, take a right. Left onto 441 and I'll tell you from there."

His deep, drawling voice makes my muscles tense as I'm increasingly aware that his presence unnerves me for one reason- one I'm not wanting to admit to myself.

_No. More. Older. Men._

My crushes on teachers had gotten me into trouble before, mainly due to my inability to shut my mouth with my 'best friends.' I push the thoughts from my mind, turning on my radio to distract me.

The country music blasts out of my new speakers and Alan Jackson's voice soon floods my vehicle as I pull onto Wiles.

_"…Weeeeellllll, way down yonder on the Chatahoochee, nev'r knew how much that muddy water meant to me, but I learn'd how to live, and I learn'd who I wus…."_

I'm not paying attention to the reaction of Snape, but a distinctive choking sound interrupts my unabashed singing of the well-known lyrics. I look over, and the expression of horror I meet is enough to light up my face with laughter. I turn the music down as I come to a halt at a red light.

"What…. was _that_?"  Snape asks intently.

"_That_ was good, All-American, old-fashioned country music!" I say in my best Southern drawl.

"Bloddy hell, it was horrible!" His exclamation surprises me, but his genuine dislike is incredibly amusing.

"Well, I'm glad you think so…tell me, Mr. Snape, what do great wizard types such as yourself listen to?"

He presses his lips into a thin line, "I do not appreciate your jeering, Ms. Evans."

I feel like an absolute ass. "Oh no, you read me wrong, Sir. I- uh, well, I'm quite interested in, well, you know- uh-"

"Please, if you wish to know of the wizarding world, just SAY it," he sighs.

"Yep, that would be it. I mean, if you can tell me, I wouldn't want you to have to wipe out my memory or any-"

"-Trust me, Ms. Evans, if I were going to obliviate you, I would have done it quite a while ago."

"Ah, yes. So um, why're you here, in _Florida__, sir?"_

"Summer '_activity'. I teach at a school for young witches and wizards, and the headmaster of that institution decided it would be an __enriching experience," he says._

His face is twisted into an expression of resentment, but his voice is peppered with dutiful boredom.

_At least he doesn't _hate_ you…_

"Um… where's it?"

"Can't tell you exactly- Europe."

"Are there more than one of those schools?"

"Several. France, America…"

**!~&~!**

"-America?" the girl asks, intrigued.

"Surely you didn't think the _fanciful talents of Magic were reserved to those with imperious- sounding accents, did you?" I retort, slightly entertained._

"No, I just- I mean, wow, there are some living amongst me, I suppose."

I heave a heavy sigh as we travel down 441 and nod in affirmation. Despite my putting her off to conversation with me, she continues with her badgering. I find her almost reminiscent of me as a young child, eager for knowledge. I also wonder if I shouldn't be answering her. She already knows too much as a muggle, but something about her obnoxiously harmless attitude forces me to continue obliging her.

I give her a few more directions leading us to my temporary apartment, and I'm preparing to depart as she asks yet another question-

"What do you teach?"

I hurriedly answer her as I gather my briefcase and papers, "_Potions_-"

My eyes meet hers, wide, a ruddy shade of brown and expectant. I roll mine.

"Ms. Evans, seeing as how it is highly inappropriate for a student to be taking a teacher home in the first place, I may as well further intrude upon the rules and invite you in to have a cup of tea, as you will likely badger me after class tomorrow if I do not satiate your many questions now."

She beams and turns off the car.

_'Severus, what have you done?'_

***^*^**

For a temporary dwelling, it wasn't bad. Default furniture in the living area, likely beige or an ugly color of cream, is draped in dark maroon (_He must like that color_-) and black covers, neatly secured with decorative coordinated sashes. The dark wooden and glass table is covered with a small collection of books, which Snape promptly removes before he begins to brew a pot of tea.

I examine the spines of some of them- _Positively Petrifying Potions, _AP Organic Chemistry, Edition 2_, __The_ Mystery of Muggle Minds_. The last one I pick up, and scan through pages of what looks like an in-depth observation of the works of normal people, their habits, average IQ, statistics, psychology…_

"Muggle Minds…?" I muse aloud.

"Muggles. Non-magical people," I hear Snape say from the kitchen, somewhat distastefully.

"Hm."

He comes over holding a tray of tea, and I'm suddenly frightened as to what I should do or how I should act. Tea is a very British custom, and I'm not exactly a 'lady', as I was raised by my father and brother. It's more customary to burp at my dinner table than say 'Thanks.'

Things go smoothly, however, much to my surprise. He pours tea, offers me sugar coolly, and I start up where I left off, with a plethora of questions. I manage to gain a glimmer of a smirk from him now and again with my off-handed comments, coupled with several rebukes. Half and hour later I glance at the clock, and note it is nearing seven-thirty.

He notices this action.

**+xXx+**

"Yes, I suppose you should be going," I say to my not-so-welcome intrusion.

She nods, then looks up at me suddenly, wide-eyed and fervent.

"Another question?"

"Uh, yeah," she whispers in an unconfident voice. She looks down again.

"_Well??_"

"Um, can- uh, can magic be taught?"

Oh dear. I almost feel bad for the somewhat pathetic muggle now. She had gotten her hopes up.

My expression softens somewhat. "I'm afraid there is not. Unless one has an intrinsic predisposition for magic, they cannot practice it." Her face falls.

"Oh."

**Commentary:** ….Oooooooo…..!!! Yes, it has been Far. Too. Long. I have not forgotten about all of you, though! The story is, indeed, nearly done! One or two more chapters- and they WILL be up within the next few weeks. Sorry for the hiatus- I got flooded with work.

So what'll it be? Will I get a shot at magic? No, I think not. But who said I wasn't good at Chemistry? ;)


	6. Revelations, Part One

**DISCLAIMER:** Did you know bees disembowel themselves when they sting? Heh. Cool. 

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Six: Revelations Part One.**

I couldn't keep my eyes off of his face. His expressions, once shrouded in the thickest type of haze and glazed over by his constant scowling or passivity, were slowly revealed to me. Subtle but present… I think he had noticed me staring. I had looked down, and though I noticed a grin falter quickly when I looked up again-

"Miss Evans!" His familiar voice tears me from my reverie.

"Uh- oh, I… Uh-"

He just glares at me.

"Sorry," I say, suddenly feeling very small.

The class passes relatively uneventfully, and I struggle constantly not to let my gaze wander over to him, working studiously and angrily with a red pen at a stack of papers- no, don't look, don't stare, and by God don't loose yourself in his eyes or the thought of his voice- oh, god, _his voice!_

_'SHIT!'_

I mentally scold myself for being as hopelessly corny and undisciplined as those I despise. Ah, speaking of those I despise…

Julie Mead resumes filing her nails for the third time during the class, as much to Snape's annoyance as to mine. In the deadly silent classroom, the noise is like a steady chisel at my temper.

_'I wish I could just SNAP that freakin' thing in half!' _I think, noting her obliviousness to the misery she is causing those _attempting_ to finish the 22 page packet assignment.

I stare at her overdone face with detached disinterest, watching her smugly prune her nails and begin to paint them. Snape is too consumed in grading to notice or care.

_'The spoiled bitch_,' I fume, '_All the times she's slighted me, insulted me, embarrassed me, and then she'll turn around and ask for my help -MY _help_- in class the next day. And I give it to her. Manipulative bitch, I help her!!' _My pulse rises just thinking about it.

She looks at me casually, apparently taking notice of my glowering, and she regards my expression of exasperation at her self grooming habits with a grin. A GRIN.

Clink. The side of her glass nail polish bottle has hit the long desk, pouring its deep maroon contents all… over… _my…_WORK!!__

"Whoops," Julie drawls innocently, obviously insincere. This breaks the class' still silence, and all look up to see Julie's smirk and my reddening face as I consider the wasted hours of work before me, drenched in dark nail enamel.

Something goes off inside me.

I _snap._

*~*

I'm not sure the enraged girl before me is aware of it, but she has just managed to make Julie's book fly across the room, and now her nail file has apparently broken itself in two. Funny thing is, Miss Evans has not moved.

I gape, expression for once unguarded, as she finishes the girl off by grabbing her makeup bag, and, _manually this time, throwing it into the fume hood near the door. She proceeds to stalk out angrily, and the contents of the fume hood burst into flames as she passes._

I'm suddenly starkly aware of why she has such a keen interest in wizardry.

But, why then--?

**$$-$$**

I storm out abruptly and don't look back. My eyes well up with tears, seemingly of their own accord, and my whole body is *_tingling*._

_'What was _that_?'_

I stop walking. I can't think straight. My head feels like a bubble full of butterflies, and I can't keep my balance any longer- the room is spinning and I start to fall- _Oh dear-_

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . TBC_

**Author's Notes**: I'm so so so so sorry!! I will update more, I swear it. J All I need to do is find the rest of this chapter that I wrote. There are two more chapters in the foreseeable future, one of which is almost done. I will update this month! Ciao!

-Tam


	7. Revelations, Part Two

**DISCLAIMER:** Fuzzy pink bunny muffins.

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Seven: Revelations Part Two.**

_Pain._

The last thing I remember is pain, and I get a sharp stab of just that as I open my eyes….slowly. All I see is Mr. Snape and Ms. Lynch, the school's principal, staring down at me (and trust me, this is not a pleasant sight.)

"What-"I stammer.

Ms. Lynch cuts me off, her thin lips pursing into a line of dissatisfaction, "You, young lady, are in for it. Honestly, Tamara, the LAST thing I would expect from a student of your caliber is assault on a fellow classmate!"

_What?!_

She huffs once more before whispering something to Snape and angrily breezing out of the 'nurse's office,' which is a poorly transformed broom closet with a pitiful excuse for a bed and a sink. Snape levels a glare at me. I glare back as best I can with my head feeling as though it may burst. He breaks the silence.

"Well, this is certainly an… _interesting revelation, Miss Evans."_

"What happened?" My mind is a blur, and all I can seem to remember is doing my work and fuming about Julie.

He suddenly throws something at me, and it lands in my lap. I look down, startled. It is a plastic bag with a broken nail file, and what looks to be melted pink plastic and…cosmetics?

"Oh….yeah," I whisper, memories flooding back.

"Shush," he pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes tightly, "You realize, of course, that this apparently dormant _power of yours need to be watched. Developed if need be, but definitely watched."_

I stifle a giggle as I get an image of myself struggling against the binds of a white straight jacket, locked up in a mental institution.

"You will meet me at my temporary residence at six-o-clock sharp. Am I understood?"

"Yessir," I manage, dumbstruck.

"You will not be late, and, Miss Evans, I trust you will be _discreet?_"

"I, um-"

"Very well. Good day." With that he turns to leave, sweeping out with all the prestige of a know-it-all wizard. I am left in a wake of confusion, alone with the remnants of Julie Mead's most prized possessions.

I grin.

_Since when am I this lucky?_

**Author's Notes**: Sort, yes. Important? Yes! The next will be much longer, I swear it. Oh, and….

**Serpent Mage**- HA! ::Evil Cackle:: It is now 11:30; I beat my deadline by a half-hour! ::Evil Cackle, cough, choke… Eh, Oops. Thanks for the inspiration and the review, hun! Keep it real, yo! ;)

-Tam


	8. And We're Back, Folks

**DISCLAIMER:** It's been quite a while. Gotta love summer! J

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Eight: And We're Back, Folks!**

_I can't feel my feet…_

I look up from my stationary spot on Snape's couch. I have an ice-pack on my head and a pillow beneath it. Snape is pacing menacingly- I note he does this quite naturally- around the room, apparently waiting for something.

"Are your parents unusual, Ms. Evans?"

"Huh?"

"I do not enjoy repeating myself, so DO attempt to pay attention to my questions. Are your parents or any of your antecedents particularly 'odd' by your standards or altogether absent from your life?"

"Not really- I don't see a whole lot of my Mom, but that's just 'cause when I was little my Dad won custody because she didn't have a job, something about her drinking, and Dad brought Jeff and I up just fine, though he did often complain about Mom and said she was a crazy bi-"

"Your life story is quite unnecessary," he sighs and stops pacing, looking at me intently. "Are you toying with me?"

"Excuse me?" I frown.

"This whole not hearing me the first time thing is getting quite old, Ms. Evans-"

"No, as a matter of fact, I am NOT. Do I look particularly pleased with the situation?" I ask sarcastically, jiggling the ice-pack on my head for emphasis.

He sighs again. Suddenly, a loud noise erupts from his room. Shattering glass and a soft hooting noise follows, and I move to rise from the sofa. Snape puts up an eloquent hand to stop me.

"No, I've got it."

**&_&_&**

I walk into my chambers- well, my _room- and find a discombobulated, scruffy owl meandering aimlessly around on my floor. I '__reparo' the broken window and snatch up the parchment attached to the old owl. Dumbledore's prompt reply to my earlier appeal for information on the American Evans lineage is interesting at the least- and he requests more information on the girl. He even brazenly asks to see if I can arrange to bring her back with me in one week._

_Dear Merlin. She's more trouble than she's worth._

I, in all honesty, only have one option. The fact that she may be a danger not only to my sanity but more importantly to her fellow muggle (oh what a great loss a few less of that sort would be-) mandates she be tested and observed. She would have to come with me. I cringe and angrily crumble the letter in my hand.

I hurriedly write a return correspondence stating I will, regrettably, be returning as a party of two.

*****TWO DAYS LATER*****

I can't believe I wasn't suspended. I wonder if somehow Snape's persuasion had something to do with that, but that would likely be a naive conclusion. I walk into school after two days of absolutely pointless bed-rest and I'm immediately greeted by rude stares and fearful whispers. Timid giggles follow me through the halls as I round the corner to Chemistry.

I walk into the class and take my seat. All eyes are on me. Someone whispers "Freak!" My hands clench and my eyes water.

_As if I wasn't already enough of an outcast._

My eyes meet the onyx eyes of Snape and I see him subtly nod "no" at me.

_He's right. I can't cry. I can't let these idiots see me like this. I can't let it get to me._

I sniffle and lift my chin defiantly.

_I can't help what I am…whatever it is I am._

**@.^.@**

"A squib."

"A squid? Are you suggesting I come from a line of marine wildlife?"

"No, no," I correct the half-deaf, speech-impaired, clumsy -and worse- _American_ girl. She and I are standing in the Chemistry lab after school, conversing discreetly on what I was neglecting to tell her before. I was, of course, neglecting to inform her on her lineage for precisely this reason; she's often so very thick-skulled…

"Ok, ok, explain it to me."

"You come from an ancient line of muggle-born wizards, carried on your mother's side. Naturally, after muggle-born witches or wizards marry into…_impure_ blood, a variety of things happen. Bad magic, no magic, or squibs result. Bad magic is simply that- witches or wizards with an uncanny inclination for botching spells and the like. No magic is, well, self-explanatory, and squibs are from a pure or mostly pure line… ones who should have been magical but end up as a sort of dud."

She gives me a long-suffering look. "…I'm a dud?"

"Not exactly, though sometimes I wonder. You see, you come from a pure line, but one bad marriage and, viola; your great-grandmother was a squib. You, then, should not be even remotely magical, as the gene she should have had lies dormant usually for half a dozen generations. But it's not an exact science, wizard genetics is more like throwing darts while blindfolded."

"You know, I did that once, and this poor kid who was standing too cl-"

"Did you listen to a word I said?!"

She laughs, "Yeah. I just- I'd rather not be too serious about it, I mean, for all I know I am a dud or squid or squib or whatever and can't really do anything magical at all."

"If that is the case, Ms. Evans, you should be grateful. With the way things are in the wizarding world right now, ignorance is bliss."

"I don't think so. I think ignorance is the most painful human condition to be suffered. Sadly, it's victims often don't know they're afflicted before it's too late." She smiles whimsically. I almost feel like smiling back at her careless expression.

_Almost.___

**Author's Notes**: Miss me? I'm on a creative run. I do not intend on stopping this story anytime soon. Expect several chapters to completion. Though I have four AP classes simultaneously and I'm preparing for Track again, I am, indeed, back. AND I'M A SENIOR! J Sorry for the hiatus. Love me, hate me, wanna murder me for leaving you…either way, read me!

-Tam


	9. Dumb Muggles

**DISCLAIMER:** I~~~ wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner… that is what I'd truly love to be… and if I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner… everyone would-

**gunshots**

…and yet more carnage and copyright entreatments.

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Nine: Dumb Muggles.**

Julie Mead has a new makeup bag. It is leather and apparently expensive, something by the name of "Louis Votaan," or some such mess. She wisely keeps it well out of sight during class, and is sure to apply her necessary cosmetic touch-up before her 'attacker' shows to class each morning. It almost makes me laugh (at her, not with her) how obsessed she is about her eyeliner being perfect.

_Friday. Tomorrow I leave for Hogwarts._

A mixture of delight and dismay overcomes me at this observation. The delight is derived from escaping this hell. The dismay comes from-

-the young woman walking through the door. I hear hisses and a distinctive yelp from Ms. Mead and her protégé as Ms. Evans walks confidently to her seat. She is dressed oddly- in place of her customary jeans, she wears an embroidered skirt and rather than a volleyball t-shirt she dons a v-neck cardigan. Her face is different- I assume she is wearing cosmetics- and she even wears one small diamond stud in each ear. She looks… pleasant.

_What?!_

I force any complimentary thoughts from my consciousness and focus in on my hatred of Julie Mead. 

_Ah, much better._

The end of a 6-week session is over, and two weeks of break begin tomorrow. Today, thus, is exam day.

"Our lab today will be a titration lab. You will be dealing with slightly diluted sulfuric acid, an acid-base indicator called phenolphthalein, and a weak base. Consequently, you must each wear full lab gear including gloves, goggles and aprons."

Julie and Jessica groaned. "Um, the aprons are dirty…I'm wearing, like, a really expensive Abercrombie outfit-" Jessica began.

Julie completed the protest, "Yeah, and my acrylics will so totally be ruined by those gloves."

I'm currently not sure if I can take anymore…

The two blondes are looking at me expectantly, or at least I think they are; it's difficult to decipher expressions on the easily dumbfounded. "If I gave the impression that this lab would be optional for those with meager protests, please, allow me to clear up the issue…NO ONE is exempt."

This earns me sighs and a few ostentatious eye-rolls. I feel like doing the same.

**,','#,','#,','**

The titration lab was going well. In fact, I was nearly finished. But, no. It would have made sense for things on my last day at this school to be pleasant- and the world just doesn't make sense. Julie Mead decided to remove her gloves at the exact moment Jessica Antwan knocked over the remaining sulfuric acid. In an attempt to save the falling beaker, Julie put her hands in the way of a minimally concentrated but nonetheless dangerous solution.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

My eyes widen at the sound, and I move in to turn on the nearest sink faucet, never-minding the remaining acid dripping off of the table. Though her skin is not exactly _melting away_, Julie's acrylic nails are deteriorating rapidly. I calm down rapidly as I realize that she's panicked and yelping not because she's in pain, but because her thirty-five dollar set of nails is melting. I stifle a laugh and continue to help her scrub the solution off of her hands.

Snape swiftly sweeps over to our area and grabs Julie's hands to examine the damage. I step back and watch his expression turn from genuine concern, to shielded amusement to exasperation.

"Again, Ms. Mead, to the nurse's office with you. Your partner will finish the lab for you," he dead-pans, though I can tell he's fighting down a smirk. The blubbering blonde exits the room quickly, cradling her mildly discolored hands as though they were bloody and marred. I scoff.

His eyes glimmer with a certain mischief and I find myself, again, staring at him. He glances my way and holds my gaze for a moment.

I feel like a deer in headlights with his eyes on me, and I sense a flush creeping onto my face. The bell rings.

_Whew._

Packing up my supplies quickly, I spare a glance at Snape and find him speaking to an overly-pierced boy cloaked in black about how 'those dreadful things will react with the chemicals…' The perplexed look on the boy's face is priceless.

**`-)_+_(-'**

I enter the teacher's lounge to gather the last of my things before leaving and pass a mirror on the way in. I stop abruptly and turn to my reflection. Red cheeks, red nose and red forehead. _Oh no. I quickly undo my tie and top button, and it is as I'd feared- I have a distinct line separating my pale, unexposed skin from that above it. I have **a sunburn.**_

In a notably worse mood, I exit the room after gathering my things. I'm greeted by the face of Ms. Evans, who promptly begins asking me questions.

"So be packed by seven?" She asks, staring at the floor.

"Yes, and at my door. If you're not there I depart without you," I state.

"OK. What should I wear?"

I react in a heated voice, naturally, "Miss Evans, your annoying badgering-"

"What's **your problem**?!" She walks in my path and stops me in my tracks, glaring at me in an empty corridor- or hall, or whatever. She is, quite obviously, angry.

"I was under the impression you understood it was _you._" She flinches as though slapped. _Oh. That came out a bit harsh._

"It's not my fault I'm a muggle," she chokes out, "if you are adamant about constantly insulting me, demeaning me and condescending to me than I'll simply not go with you! I mean, honestly, if that's what you want, you should've just said it and saved me the trouble. Maybe next time I 'freak out', I'll kill someone, and be forced to withdraw not only from school, but from life altogether!"

I'm shocked. I can only stare at her. "Withdraw from school?" I entreat.

Her expression turns from fury to embarrassment. She barely mumbles her next words. "Ms. Lynch implored me rather forcefully to leave the school on threat of a lawsuit from Julie's mother… on me and on the school."

There is a long silence. She continues to find something immensely interesting about her sandals and refuses to look up. I sigh loudly.

"Be there at seven. Wear something discreet, like a big sweater or whatnot. Nothing to muggle-ish, like what you have on now," I comment, referring to her feminine outfit all abound with color and whatnot.

"You don't like it?" She looks up, scowling.

"It's not that I don't- in fact I like- it's only that….just- just," I realize I'm stuttering like a schoolboy, and rush out a quick, "wear something black. Good evening."

+==+==+

As I stand in the hall, watching his retreating form and inhaling his scent, I playback the odd scene that just took place in my head. I'm shocked. Yes, he had a sunburn, and yes, it would be hard to tell, but I could just SWEAR that…

_…he was blushing_.

**Author's Notes**: Told you, I'm on a creative run. Let's hope it turns into a creative marathon!! A few more nights of insomnia and I may be back in your favor, huh? Let me know if you enjoy the direction- I have a few story arcs I could take and I want to know what you like.

-Tam__


	10. Hogwarts, Here I Come

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing. Well, besides this story.

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Ten: Hogwarts, Here I Come!**

I'm incredibly nervous this morning, and my bottom lip is bearing the brunt of it.

"Punishing yourself by mutilation of your lip will not ease your anxiety or help the situation." Snape chimes in cynically.

He is sitting across from me, looking up from his magical newspaper. I stop biting my lip.

 "…'Kay."

My father is under the impression that a few friends and I are at Disney for the break to celebrate good grades- I did ace every subject after all- (okay, almost aced, I got two B's.) Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I'm actually in one of the many offices at the Ministry of Magic, awaiting the results of several practical magic tests and ability standards. Finally, a man with a trim white beard and bushy eyebrows emerges and summons Snape into his office.

I'm left in a rather disconcerting cloud of frustration and uncertainty.

I pick up the newspaper and nearly have a heart attack at what I see. The front page displays a moving picture of my great-grandfather looking sinister and waving a wand, and a smaller image of my face inlaid in the text. The headline reads:

"HEIRESS OF SINISTER EVANS BLOODLINE RETURNS!"

I almost rip it to shreds. Curiosity wins me over, and I frantically read through the article, discovering more about my family in five minutes than I had in my entire life. But I can't completely swallow it.

_My_ ancestors were dark wizards?

-Bullshit! The article states in fanciful language that there was a great schism generations back in the Evans family and that the good diverged from the evil, creating two separate bloodlines.

 …Oh, and something about some association with Vollymort, who I concluded at the end of the article was some _great big_ 'bad guy.'

Suddenly Snape bursts from the office and snatches the paper from my hands.

"I did not mean to leave this behind. You weren't supposed to r-"

"Who's Vollymort?" I cut in.

"SHH!" He grabs my arm and lifts me from my chair, tugging me into the office like a disobedient seven-year old.

The grey-haired man sits behind a desk, and I'm placed promptly down in a chair before it. There's an oppressive silence as Snape twists the newspaper angrily in his pale hands.

"So. Yep," I chime in, waiting for something- anything. "Ok, I'll go first. Is it true?"

There's more oppressive silence as they both avoid my inquisitive eyes.

"Hello-o-o-o? Should I take your silence as a 'Yes, Tamara, you're borne of pure, unadulterated evil?'" More silence. "Anything?"

Snape finally looks at the gray man, back at me, at the grey man again, at the paper, the gray man, me, the gray man, paper, me, grey man…

"Ok, ok- you're making me dizzy with the looking and the glancing. Out with it. What's going on?"

"Yes," he finally says.

"Oh, Christ. Yes what? Stop being ambiguous!!"

The grey man finally speaks up, stuttering and nervous, "It's, um, it is sort of true. You do c-come from an infamous bloodline, to be perfectly concise, but you're several generations from the last dark, uh, um, dark wizard."

"Several?" I laugh, "Try three."

He actually looks frightened and I find this funny. "Yes, well, all members i-in this bloodline are, uh, well, expected to serve in the employ of," he lowers his voice to a whisper and looks around, "_You-Know-Who."_

I cock my head to one side. "Uh…no, no, actually- I don't know who."

Snape chimes in with his distinct baritone drawl.

"I'll explain back at the castle. I have someone I must talk to _immediately_."

Ohhh…_castle_. I grin.

**#~~?~~#**

I burst into Dumbledore's office, looking irate, as I would imagine. Dumbledore's eyes meet mine as though he was already expecting me.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I forcefully inquire.

"Tell you what, Severus?"

"WHY you wanted me at that school so badly. WHY you played my _debt to you_ on such a meaningless token?"

"Are you inferring that I knew of the girl?" Dumbledore looked as though he might grin.

"Don't toy with this, Headmaster. Seems to me that this is serious. Was she being hunted? Watched? Scouted? What, _what is so damned special about her?!"_

"What's special about her, Severus, is that there is nothing special about her at all."

Stoicism strikes me at hearing this comment. How very characteristic for the beloved Headmaster to dance around the subject and speak in riddles. I sit down and sigh.

"Okay, I'm listening. What's really going on?"

Dumbledore offers me tea and I accept. He seats himself and begins to speak, "This wasn't supposed to happen. The girl's name was on my American colleague's list when she was born; she was **supposed to go to Wizarding School. That only happens when one is born a witch- but she shouldn't have been, because the gene should have skipped her. By the age of five, her name was fading- literally fading off of the parchment. I've only ever seen that in the case of dying children, Severus, and I was worried. When the American Headmaster checked on her, she seemed disturbingly normal."**

He paused for a long moment and I looked at him expectantly.

"She _is_ a perfectly normal muggle, my friend, without charting any magical ability. And even her _genes_ say she is not a witch. It makes no sense. I have no precise explanation. Her dormant gene is having periods of dominance for _no reason at all_. Other than during her outburst, it doesn't seem to interact with her body, leaving her essentially non-magical."

I stare, dumbfounded. "And Voldemort-?"

"-obviously knows her name. He has for a while. Granted, she's not a priority, not even remotely, but getting his hands on heirs and heiresses to the Evans' bloodline is doubtlessly on his secondary agenda." The Headmaster was visibly concerned.

"And I come into play, where?"

Another pause. The Headmaster shifts in his chair, unsure of how to explain why he used me. At least, I _think he used me._

"I needed you to bring her back. Of course, I would have asked you near the end of your stay, but the unexpected event moved up the time table. We just need to be sure."

"Sure of what, precisely?"

Dumbledore pauses and tries to grin slightly, but it is a faint attempt at concealing his worry.

"That she's not…well, how do I put it- that she's truly not _dangerous_."

/*\*/*\

"Dangerous?" I ask.

"Yes, very dangerous. Ingesting that pure herb will kill you and skin contact can cause a seizure."

I quickly withdraw my hand from the row of jars before me and turn to face Snape.

"So what's the word, homie?" I jokingly ask. "You did talk to the Principal, right?"

Snape cocks an eyebrow at my use of 'lingo.' I smile brightly.

"…He is a _Headmaster_."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, but you British people call underwear 'knickers,' so I'll stick to American-speak."

I'm for a moment unsure if he is offended or amused. He turns his back to me and speaks.

"I don't want this to seem to dramatic, but you've already learned about the dangers of your bloodline, and now we need to see if it's- ah, if _you _are, well, normal."

"Normal by whose standards? Really, I think I'm a sort of half-breed freak to both ends of the spectrum; wizards and humans."

"Muggles, Ms. Evans, call them muggles; wizards and witches are human as well."

"Yep, mmhm. Well to tell you the truth, Snape, buddy, Severu-"

"-Don't… do that. I am still 'Professor Snape' to you."

"Oh, you loooove correcting people," I laugh loudly and continue, "Anyhow, I may not know what's going on-"

"Obviously…" Snape mumbles. I shoot him a nasty look.

"-_but _I know after that crap in class happened I felt like my head had imploded. I've felt absolutely fine lately- nothing magical or paranormal or head-bashingly painful going on." Snape looks at me. "Nada." I repeat. "Zilch, zip, zero," I pause, and get still nothing from Snape, so I go on, "cero, kotonashi, nil, niks, nih-"

"Do shut-up _anytime_."

I smile and sigh. "Such love and fuzzy vibes coming from you." This earns me a very viscous glare.

"I do try." He drawls out silkily.

I laugh, "Cynicism…cynicism…you are quite good at that."

"Ah, but it's in my nature." He draws a long breath and tells me to seat myself.

"You, ah- you'll be needing to stay here a while longer, Ms. Evans."

"Yeah, sure- but what about the tests?" I try to conceal my anxiety and hopefulness.

He looks at me for a while, his face devoid of emotion as usual. "You're a muggle, Ms. Evans, a squib. We don't know exactly why or how you did what you did, but to my knowledge it shouldn't be happening again."

For the second time in two weeks, I feel my spark of hope fizzle, and I am once again entirely alone.

+-_-_-_-_-+

She tries to hide it, but her face clearly betrays her upset at hearing this news. I find myself almost wanting to tell her everything will be fine, but I cannot. I don't yet know if it is true.

I show her to her quarters and tell her she has free reign on the library and great hall, but wandering other places like the student's houses or classrooms is potentially dangerous. She is a hall and an (unmoving) staircase away from me.

I retire to my quarters and attempt to sleep, but only find myself staring blankly into my fireplace. Poetry floods my mind, just the way it always does when I am unable to rest… "I betook myself to linking fancy unto fancy, thinking what this gaunt, ungainly, ghastly…" ~~~

I am awoken by a frantic pounding on my door, accompanied by the voice of none other than Ms. Evans. Her inhuman screaming brings me to consciousness instantly, and I run to my chamber door.

"_Professor Snape!_ HELP! _OPEN THE DOOR_!"

My hand reaches the door handle and I pull it open.

CHAPTER ELEVEN COMING SOON.

**Author's Notes**: Oh, don't you HATE me?! Ok, I know where I'm going now. I have a decisive plan, and it involves my original gut feeling. You will see….::evil cackle:: Oh, and happy news! Either the author the plagiarized me or FFN removed two of my stories that had been stolen by a certain someone. Yay. Happy Holidays! I spent $116 on my family! :(

**Avivagirl**- YOU totally rock. Great reviews, you're really feeding my creativity. Yes, Julie and Jess are exaggerated, but sadly, not so much. Snape, I think, always sort of 'owes' Dumbledore, and his urgings were sort of the basis for the story. And I was definitely planning on the dormant gene thing, as you can see. Thanks!!

**KarenDetroit**- Yes, yes, little yellow monkey. Check my profile pic…oh, wait…

**Barbara Kennedy**- Thanks! Sadly, I'm not making moving animation, just still drawings depicting certain scenes. It shouldn't be much longer, I have Chapter One through Three done. 

-Tam__


	11. Nameplay and Aerosmith

**DISCLAIMER:** I am not a crook!

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Eleven: Nameplay and Aerosmith**

…along with the door nearly hitting me in the face, I'm assaulted by the full weight of Ms. Evans, falling in through the doorway and knocking us both promptly on our asses.

"What-? Evans, get off of me!"

She jumps to her feet, stumbles, and slams the door. She turns to me with a pale face, drained of color, though flushed from running.

"I s-saw...  I saw a- a…"

"Well, you look like you've seen a ghost," I quip, quickly realizing the reason for her panicked outburst.

She seems affronted that I'm not taking her fear seriously. "Axe! He had a god-forsaken axe!! Woke me in my bed! MY BED! He- Snape, stop laughing at me!- was chasing me with a weapon… why- why are you still laughing?? Don't you believe me?!"

I am so beyond my senses now that I can't even tap into how truly upset I am for being awoken so abruptly. I finally manage to get a hold of myself enough to answer her inquiries. "That was either Peeves or the Bloody Baron- two of the Hogwarts ghosts. I suppose I should have warned you."

"Suppose you should've?! Well, yes, I guess so! Considering I nearly killed myself jumping out of bed, stumbling down three or four corridors, around the castle no less than _three times, _and almost falling to my DEATH on a shifting staircase before I found your quarters- considering that, I guess you should've said something to the effect of," at this point she puts on her best British accent and does an impression of me, "'Miss Evans, by the way, this school is a bloody DEATH TRAP!!'"

"If you weren't so clumsy-"She cuts me off by hitting me, hard, in the arm.

It occurs to me now that she might actually be angry.

"Me?! AH! You're so damned _thick_ sometimes, I just-"She stops mid-sentence, gives me a long-suffering look, and plops in a chair by my extinguished fireplace.

"My hospitality does not extend into my room, Miss Evans."

"What hospitality? You're a cold, uncaring man. I couldn't give a damn about where your hospitality extends-"

"Watch it," I say testily.

"I'm not going back out there with ghosts and possessed-looking cats and god-knows-what-else patrolling the corridors. Forget it. You want me out, either pick me up or levitate my one-hundred-fifty-odd pound body out. I'll have a fit of astronomical proportions."

I weigh my options. Just for being rude, I should have tossed her into the cold. I'm Severus Snape- I do not tolerate such behavior lying down. I look at her pajama-draped form and scowl. She is, after all, an unmannered American.

"I am exceptionally hospitable toward you, if you only knew. Stop being such a child. Adults don't throw _fits_, Evans." With that, I tossed her a blanket and resumed my spot in my bed.

I heard her mocking murmurs, feigned in her bad British accent imitation, and eventually the sounds of even breathing.

Now where was I? Ah, yes, _sleeping_.

(==@==)

Very few hours of sleep and one ghost-laden dream later, I'm awake and rising from Snape's armchair. The smell of peppermint and copper fills my nostrils, immediately offending my drowsiness and forcing me to cover my nose. I nonetheless follow the scent to its source, and ante-chamber of sorts, where I find the beloved Professor brewing some concoction.

"What is that crap?" I ask.

Snape doesn't glance up, only goes on adding this, chopping that, moving and swaying with grace around the large cauldron in the center of the room. It's much like a dance, I note. Tired of being ignored, I pointedly tap my foot.

He glares at me, raising a menacing eyebrow, "You're throwing off my rhythm, Evans. I am not a morning person, and much as I can see that by the look of things, you're not either - (he glances my disheveled clothes and hair over at this, and I scowl at him) - my friendly countenance has worn thin. So _do help yourself_ to breakfast.

"But I'm-"

"To the Great Hall with you, NOW."

"I don't…"

He slams his fist down onto the wooden counter at this, and impatiently stalks over to me, coming close enough to where I'm pleasantly assaulted by his scent. 

_He's obviously showered…or maybe he always smells this good_… I think, self-indulgently. I'm ripped from this train of thought as he roughly grabs my shoulders, and guides me out of the room, slamming the door and locking it behind me.

I stare at the wooden door as though it's listening (and for all I know, it is) -and finish my sentence. 

"…but I don't know where it _is.._."

….Ten minutes later, I'm absolutely exhausted. Wandering through the halls of Hogwarts has me knocked. It isn't so much the walking, but the sweeps with death that have taken my energy, and my patience.

"I'm hungry, I'm tired, my arm hurts…ah!"

I see the familiar hall that holds my room, and quickly find my way in. Grabbing a few necessities from my suitcase, I run back to Snape's chambers.

I sneak in through the door I left open (in case of anything, you know...) and set in to motion one of the stupidest ploys for attention I've ever concocted.

_Soon, you'll be walking me to breakfast, you little bastard._

I pop in my Aerosmith CD, after debating over Shania Twain or Linkin Park- and blast my favorite song, skipping to the best part.

"I was cryin' just to get to you, now I'm dyin' cause I let you

Do what you do, down on me, YEAH!

Now there's not even breathin' room,

Between pleasure and pain, yeah-

You cry when we're makin' love, must be on in the same!!"

As I planned, Snape bursts from the room, but not as I expect.

He's calmly putting stoppers in tubes full of potion, and walks over to me with a condescendingly expectant look on his face, as though he's waiting to speak.

Of course, he can't, what with the music and all. I cock my head to the side, as I turn it down.

"Well?" I ask.

"I happen to be an Aerosmith fan, Evans. If you want to piss me off, you should play something monstrous, like country. Are you ready to go to breakfast?"

I stand in shock, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open.

"Wonderful. I'll get my coat."

~~++~~

"So, you've taken to knocking off the formality, huh?" The nuance asks me from across the table at breakfast.

"Pardon?" I ask.

_Wonderful, she's being ridiculously vague with her conversation starters again._

"Oh, it's just that all of the sudden I'm 'Evans,' not 'Miss Evans,' you know, you've taken off the 'Miss' and all that. So, I figure that seeing as how we're all buddy-buddy now, I could-"

"No."

"Not even-"

"Uh-uh."

"Oh, okay."

Long silence.

"So, Snape, how-"

"Don't try it."

She laughs at this.

"Oh, come on. Stop being such a name prude."

"A what?" I drop my fork and grab my napkin, wiping my hands as I stare at her. She's beaming with her damned infectious smile.

"A name prude, you know- one who is strict on their name, and only likes to be called one thing…"

"You made that up."

She smiles and finishes her toast. "Yep. Yep, I did Snape-brutha."

"For the love of-"

"Ok, so you either let me call you Snape or I'll continue to be brutally creative with your name. _And I'll even find out what your middle name is_."

I blanch. Not that.

I level her a viscous glare, and even add a sneer in for good measure.

"Oh please, dirty looks get you nowhere…"

I scoff and give her an apprehensive glance.

"Fine. But in the company of others, you _will_ call me Professor."

"Sure. Great." She smiles triumphantly, trying to play off her obvious elation.

_Good lord. Absolute disaster, trouble, nothing but trouble…_

We sit in silence for a few moments as she finishes off her coffee.

"So, what d' we to do today, _Snape_?"

**Author's Notes**: Okay, you can officially be mad at me. ::sheepish smile::

Things get serious in the story next chapter. And yes, there will be one. And it will be semi-long. And somewhat soon. As in not three months. Please don't hate me?

-Tam__


	12. And Then She Dropped the Ball

**DISCLAIMER:** No cigarettes, only peeled havanas for you!

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Twelve: And Then She Dropped the Ball**

I sit, contented, at a desk full of potions books in the library. My CD player is repeating my favorite Tori Amos song, and I'm unabashedly singing aloud.

"I can be cruel, I don't know why…"

"Because I'm rubbing off on you. Up," Snape startles me, as usual, and signals for me to follow him. I tear off my headphones in my frenzy to catch up with his long strides towards the door, and drop my CD player.

"Damn it all to hell… Snape! Wait up!"

He turns around and frowns at me.

"Uh, I mean- Professor, could you _kindly hold on a moment?_" I sigh and stack my books neatly, gather up the now-cracked appliance off of the tile, and follow.

"What is it now?" I bother, entirely peeved. "I was just studying the most _interesting_ mandrake potion…"

"We need to hole you up for a few hours. Someone is coming who we'd rather not have see a muggle gracing the halls of the castle, and it could be-" He looks at me oddly, and stops his cutthroat pace of walking. "You were studying _what_?"

"Mandrake potions." I proclaim, squinting at him as though he's mad.

"Mandrake potions?" He tilts his head up, as though suspicious.

"Yes."

"Mandrake…" He scowls deeply and pauses.

"Potions," I finish for him.

….And then he continues walking as if he'd never stopped.

"Uh…yeah, 'scuse me, but what was that exchange all about? Is my vague nature and quirkiness rubbing off on_ you?_" I probe, almost dropping one of my books.

"That's odd you would study those first. They're really quite advanced. It shocked me, is all."

"Well, I'm not a bloody idiot."

He scoffs and I almost catch a glimpse of a smirk. "Did you just say _bloody_?"

"Yes, I did. It makes my speech sound quite sophisticated, don't you think?"

"It's a British vulgarity, but think what you will."

I make a disheartened noise. "I can never win."

"Not with me. Anyhow," he stops near a well-concealed door and ushers me inside, following after a precautionary glance backwards, "you'll stay here for a few hours. No more than two or three. The house elves will bring you a meal if you so wish. Any questions?"

"Ye-"

"Oh, just do what you're told." His quick speech and anxious undertones have me stressed- the usual drawl and length of his words is suddenly gone.

"What's going on? Who's coming that shouldn't see me?"

Snape glares for a moment, and then looks as though he has an epiphany.

"Ms. Evans-"

"Tamara."

"Right… would you like to do me a favor?"

"Is this a ploy?" I ask, fiddling with my CD player.

"Ploy? Me? Whatever gave you that idea?"

I scoff and grin.

"No, actually, I need you to prepare some ingredients for me. I'm making a rather complicated mandrake potion later today, and I'd like you to prepare the very simplistic base for me. Do you think you can do that?" This last comment was more of a challenge than a question, as he made clear with a pompous quirk of the eyebrow.

"Oh, don't patronize me. Yes, of course! How long will it take?"

"Two hours."

"Abso-freaking-loutely. I'll just go gather up-"

"Actually, I can get the ingredients, directions, and a small cauldron in here; I'll have the house elves bring them. Now, it's not poisonous and there really aren't any highly complicated measures, but the base does require some knowledge of dicing, mincing, crushing and other techniques you haven't learnt, so I could-"

"Oh, no, no I've read all that," I beam and for a moment, think I see a surprised expression on his distinguished face, but it quickly turns to a look of exasperation.

"What? What's wrong now?" I ask, mood dropping slightly.

"You just, uh- _remind_ me of someone. One of my soon-to-be sixth years, a little know-it-all who can't ever put her godforsaken hand down. Though, it's a close match between which of you is more annoying…" He mumbles this last part, but I catch it.

"Oh, I'm sure if I haven't won yet that I'm on my way."

"I sincerely hope that's not a threat. Do get on with it, young lady, you've got three hours. The house elves will be by soon."

"Great. A potion for a potion. Heh. Hey, do you think I could help you with the mandrake potion later?"

"We'll see how you do. Just whatever you do, _stay in this room_. I'll check in on you later."

"Riiight…"

"I'm serious." He levels me what I guess is supposed to be a vicious glare, but only succeeds in making me giggle a bit.

"Oh, I know."

"Evans-"

"Snape," I mock his tight-lipped expression and I can see he's quickly getting angry.

"_Miss_ Evans!"

"_Professor_ Snape!"

He realizes I'm doing all of this on purpose and narrows his eyes pointedly. "You just can't get enough of testing my temper, can you?"

"Oh, it's all in good fun," I smile and then suddenly act serious. "Alright, sir, yes, sir, very good, sir. I apologize."

He turns his back swiftly, stalking away and rather obviously pissed off.

_Ehh. Maybe you shouldn't have done that. Well, he _is_ rather funny when angry…_

..//""\\..

_I would've hexed her into next week if not for…_

_Wait, remind me again why I didn't hex her into next week?_

_This is getting ridiculous again. Things are okay, sort of, for a while, and now this crap. I don't know if I can take much more- Merlin help me, my students are going to have a hell of a first week if the last of my summer keeps up in this manner._

_And now Lucius decides he's going to show up- you know, just pop in- to discuss "Ministry matters" and the like. "The like," of course, meaning his son's education…which is a metaphor for his attempt to gain the Defence Against Dark Arts teaching position._

_Over my dead body._

"Severus, my friend. Good to see you," Lucius says from behind me, abruptly ending my inner-dialogue bitching session. I turn around to meet him and give him a firm handshake.

"And you, Lucius."

"You seem bothered," he slickly initiates, attempting to milk me for information on anything, no doubt, "something preoccupying you?" The tricky, slimy little bastard...

_You should talk, hmph_.

"Am I not smiling as usual? Oh, I hadn't noticed. So sorry."

He gives me a weak laugh as if to say, 'nice avoidance.'

"Well then, I suppose we should get up to the Headmasters office," he says, turning and walking with me.

An hour and two cups of overly-sweetened tea later, I'm beginning to get nervous about the situation in general. Lucius is steadfast in his attempt to get the Headmaster to budge, precisely serpentine in his attempt at manipulation.

Granted, the Headmaster is not falling for it, but it's altogether a good try, nonetheless.

"Severus, perhaps you should step out for a minute," the headmaster prompts, which is my cue to check on the girl.

"Certainly, sir."

A short walk later, I'm at the room and I slowly open the door. The reason for my bad mood and object of my ill will stands by the cauldron, adeptly stirring the mixture and singing very odd music aloud, her headphones leaving her oblivious to my entrance.

I kill the appliance with a swish of my wand, and she frowns, cursing the batteries.

"Oh," she says, noticing me, "it's _you._"

"You're really pushing it," I warn her.

"I'm almost done. Another half-hour or so, and it should be nearly wrapped up. Then, it's just cooling and-"

"When you're finished, I'll be in shortly thereafter. After that, you need to begin packing your things. You'll be leaving soon."

"But-" she looks shocked at first. Vulnerable, hurt. _Good, serves you right._

"Evans, I am _tired_."

"I have three days left!"

"Not if I can help it," I level a glare at her, and she reacts more normally this time. _Not blowing me off now, are you?_

She sighs and meets my gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry for trying to get you to _lighten up_! I mean, ever since I met you, it's all 'Miss this' and 'let me be a sarcastic bastard that-' and just when I think maybe I can get you to crack a grin or, _god forbid_, a genuine laugh, it blows up in my face! Will you just give me a chance?"

I'm silent, torn between listening to her and disregarding her.

"Snape?"

"It's Professor Snape, _Miss Evans_."

**.,:;'"~"';:,.**

And then he walks out on me. Just like that. Like every other guy I've ever befriended or opened up to, he just basically tells me to go fuck myself by turning his back on me.

_WHY DO THEY ALWAYS TURN THEIR BACKS ON ME?!_

I plop down in a comfy-looking armchair and fume inwardly. So close to cracking his shell, and then this crap happens. I suppose it's back to formal titles…

Thirty minutes of self-berating and re-evaluation later, the potion is cooled and ready to be bottled.

_Oh, bottles…I knew I'd forgotten to ask him something!_

I decide that instead of calling the house elves, I'll go get them my damn self.

_Screw you Snape, I'm leaving the room_.

I make a show of opening the door and exaggeratedly stepping out, and even though Snape's not there to watch, it's like rubbing my insubordinance in his face.

"Goodbye, Room I'm Not Supposed to Leave, I'll be back in just a few." I wink at the inanimate door and half expect it to give me a thumbs-up before I turn the corner and find my way to Snape's classroom.

After gathering the glassware and ensuring that everything I touch is left in a different place than before on Snape's desk, I begin my short walk back to the room.

And then it happens. _Again._

As I round a corner, I run smack into the broad chest of a man. I stumble back, as his momentum is greater than mine, and the entire rack of glassware goes flying. I hear the sickening crash of glass all around me as I fall, and land on some of it as I break my fall with my hands, lodging glass in my palms.

Thinking it's Snape, I begin cursing wildly and inspecting my hands. I don't look up, and before I have the common decency to shut my mouth, I ask, "Are there any spells to heal this shit?!"

"Well, certainly you learnt them in your first year, Miss…?"

I look up to see an imposing, very blonde man towering over me and offering no help what-so-ever.

"Uh…Evans. Tamara Evans."

The look that passes over his face is not missed by me- as if he'd just stumbled upon something he was looking for.

He reaches down to help me up, but I decline assistance and rise alone, still examining my now-bleeding hands.

"Lucius Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, well, sorry I'm not one for formal introductions right now, but I'm kind of bleeding everywhere."

I hear hurried footsteps, which I distinctly recognize as belonging to Snape, and see him round a corner, running towards me. He quickly surveys the situation, and the worried look on his face lingers as a scowl. He brings out his wand and murmurs something, cleaning the blood from my hands.

"Well, Professor Snape, I just met Miss Evans here-" Lucius begins, but Snape is in no condition for small talk, and neither am I.

"Yes, well, no time for long introductions, Lucius- so sorry. I must be getting her to Madame Pomfrey, you'll understand."

The blonde man quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side, looking every bit as sinister as his name sounds. "Of course…"

I nod at Malfoy as I turn to leave, with Snape guiding me by my shoulder, his right hand pressing into the small of my back. I would have enjoyed that if it weren't for the situation, and the fact that he was more _pushing_ me along than anything.

"Nice to meet you, goodbye," I say hurriedly, glancing over my shoulder as Snape and I round a corner to approach the medical wing.

I look up at the intensely angered/worried/other emotions I can't identify-ed man and I'm about to apologize when he cuts in.

"You were told to stay put. Now that he's seen you, and you- Merlin help you- you _introduced _yourself, the repercussions will be more than just my cold nature. You are actually in danger now, Evans."

"Snape, I'm sorry-"

"Yes, well, the next time you're angry with me perhaps you'll just throw something like most women, instead of taking undue risks."

"That's not _fair_, you were-"

"- a bastard to you?" He stops and steps in front of me, grabbing both of my shoulders and leaning down a bit so that we're nearly nose to nose.

"Miss Evans, I have been exceedingly kind to you. I'm trying to protect you; I was trying to keep you safe. Why that concept is beyond your understanding eludes me. But understand this- now we have something to worry about other than whether or not I'm civil to you. We," at this I can feel my throat constricting and my eyes getting moist, "have to worry about that man, and the people he's connected with."

"I didn't know," I choke out, trying my best not to cry in the face of such a reality check from Snape, compounded with the pain of my hands and his thumbs digging into my shoulders.

"Now you do. I should've explained the consequences to you sooner, I admit," he sighs and we continue walking.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Just hope Dumbledore knows what to do with this situation."

We walk in silence until we reach the doors of Ms. Pomfrey's room. I turn to Snape, but he doesn't look at me.

"Snape?"

"Hmm."

"The mandrake base is perfect."

I can almost feel the mood lighten.

"_Bloody wonderful_, Evans. Now I can sleep at night."

I smile.

**Author's Notes**: Uh-oh! What now? You'll see. This is the longest chapter yet, and I had a lot of fun writing it. Snape and Evans' bond is getting more dynamic as they have tiffs. Plus, the rows are fun to write. :) 

But what do _you_ think?


	13. Severus, the Jackass

**DISCLAIMER**: Das tut meir Leid. Or something like that. Man, I suck at German.

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

****

**Chapter Twelve: Severus, the Jackass**

****

****

Okay, so she has a sense of humor. Wonderful. But this is serious, and it's a predicament that cannot be easily forgotten.

Thus, the girl's tears are not currently a concern for me.

That's right, I couldn't care less that she's doing her best to hide her hysterics from me. I am completely unaffected by her emotional outburst in reaction to my berating. Once in the med bay, we got to talking about who Lucius is, and his connections to _You-Know-Who_. I got on her again about the whole thing. She got angry, and took my prior advice; she DID throw something at me. Well, it's not my fault. She was stupid, careless, and got herself into her predicament. I had little to do with her lack of judgment.

Madame Pomfrey pulls the last and largest chunk of glass from her palm, and she finally makes an audible yelp.

_Oh, that looked painful._

Okay, so maybe I'm a tad concerned. But it's only because her physical well-being is in question; her emotional stability is not my business. Pomfrey shoots me a disparaging look that is obviously meant to make me guilty about my passive nature in the face of the girl's emotive outpour. I look away from the scene, and see Albus coming into the medical bay.

"Severus," he greets me with a nod and turns his attention to Evans, "Miss Evans, how are you feeling?"

"I've been better." She mumbles, staring at the bandaging on her _mostly-healed_ (Thanks to my spells, no less! Ha, to say I don't care…) hands.

"Is Severus treating you well?" He addresses her only, making a point not to glance my way.

She pauses and glares at me for a moment, expression set as solemn as I've ever seen her.

"Like I said, I've been better."

_Oh, fine, damnit!_

"What do you people want from me?" I ask, opening my arms and thrusting my hands to my sides.

"I'm sorry Severus, I wasn't aware we were requesting anything at the moment," Albus looks at me solemnly over the top of his glasses. However, I would like a minute to speak with Miss Evans in private, if you please. I'll be out soon."

I make it clear I am annoyed and swoosh out of the room.

_Damn it all to hell._

======

I think everyone's attempting to talk to me to death, much in the same manner that Snape tries to glare me to death. I don't find either method particularly effective. Dumbledore, ahem, _Headmaster_ Dumbledore, is finally finished interrogating me about my 'meeting' with the blonde man.

"So, is there anything you can tell me now that I've told you everything?" I ask, realizing immediately that this was not the most tactful thing I could have possibly said.

"I'm afraid that I should keep you in the dark for a while longer Miss Evans. I'd prefer not to divulge Lucius Malfoy's history, but I can tell you that he has dangerous associations and-"

"I know, he's in with _You-Know-Who," _I feel like an idiot saying that stupid euphemism, "Wonderful. That's the source of Snape's paranoia. So what do I do? Lock myself away? Go back to the muggle world and forget this ever happened? I mean-"

"No, no, no need to be so worried. Professor Snape is justified in his paranoia due to his past experiences with Malfoy. You, however do not need to change a thing. You're very safe here at Hogwarts, and Professor Snape will not be allowed to let you run off-"

"or kick me out-"

"No, no, he won't kick you out. You're staying right here for another three or four days. Just relax and don't wander our beyond the Hogwarts borders."

"Mhm. My _pleasure_."

He wisely ignores my sarcasm and smiles at me. "Thank you, dear. Now, Professor Snape will escort you to lunch, which as I understand is very overdue. Good day."

"Bye, sir," I barely mumble as I slide off of the hospital bed and walk out the door.

))0((

I've had time to cool off now, and I can see the err of my ways. Sort of. Telling the girl to pack up and ship out was a childish, vengeful thing for me to do just because I felt a bit put off. But none the less, she is really more trouble than she's worth. Which is precisely why I do not intend to apologize for my actions, even as she is walking towards me right now with her eyes trained pitifully on the floor.

"Ready to go to a late lunch?" I ask nonchalantly.

She only shakes her head 'no.'

"Actually, professor, I think I'd rather go back up to my room. I'm tired from this whole thing and not very hungry after all."

I know she's lying, but I say nothing on it and just nod in agreement. She turns the corner to her rooms and I head off to the dungeons where I eat and bottle up the last of her mandrake potion base, which is, I note, just about perfect. I take up a book on muggles and begin reading where I had left off; the chapter titled "Muggle Teenagers: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly."

I read with regrettable interest.

_Muggle teenagers are perhaps some of the most inexplicably complicated creatures on the face of the earth. One would reason that being so young should not and does not carry the implications and complications of being older, and yet these beings defy..."_

"Right, right, right, yes, where's the truly informing stuff..." I say as I flip through the nonsense. A subtitle catches my eye. "Ah, here we are."

_Teenaged girls go one further on just about everything. Be it academic achievement or emotional turmoil, they have a tendency to overindulge where just a toe in would be fine._

"Sounds about right..." I read on.

_Females in the latter years of their teens, however, tend to have their heads on a bit straighter and often assume the adult role more quickly and willingly than males, mainly due to the 'motherly' instinct or role they are often conditioned into. This does not mean they become subversive or automatic housewives, but rather mature beings ready for the world- sooner than males, that is. Often times–_

"Severus."

My head snaps up and I hurriedly slam shut the book I was reading and conceal beneath a well-placed elbow. Dumbledore levels me a funny sort of glare before he sits down, curiously eyeing the book for only a moment.

"I come only to wish you good luck, and to give you a word of advice. Don't let her out of your sight, Severus. The fact that you're a hallway and staircase from her when she sleeps even makes me wary, but I have Filch staying near her wing either way," he pauses, stopping abruptly in mid breath, and asks in a more candid manner than actual seriousness, "you don't think I'm being overly paranoid about the situation, do you now?"

I grin at his candor and nod my head. "If she were a witch, I would say yes. But as she is defenseless and without any real magical ability, I say no. Though the fact that your wariness is justified does not make it any easier to bear the idea that it is I who carries the burden of her safety."

"Wonderful," he says, disregarding my complaint, " Though I _am_ sorry about all of this Severus, it wasn't supposed to go this far."

With this, the great white wizard stands and exits, leaving me brooding and glaring malevolently at my quill stand... which is NOT on my right, as it usually is.

It is then that I notice that everything on my desk is not where I left it, and I even have to open some drawers and actually crawl UNDER my desk to retrieve some items in my attempt to right what was wronged. But who-

"That little shit."

???

I wonder if Snape has figured out and corrected what I did to his desk by now, it being nearly dusk. I wonder if he's horribly mad about it. I wonder if I would honestly care if he were.

I ponder these things as I sit on my bed as I have been for the last few hours, engrossed in my book on the great castle I reside in. It's called Hogwarts: A History, and it is simultaneously both the most interesting and yet monotonously boring books I've ever read. While the content is of high interest, the author must have been absolutely without a sense of literary construction, nevermind a sense of humor.

So I shut the book and lay back in the huge bed, listening to footsteps approaching my door.

_Must be Snape coming to antagonize me, or Filch checking up on me again, or Dumbledore to...well, be merry and tell sly jokes._

I sit up, expecting one of the aforementioned men to come in, but instead I'm suddenly facing the imposing form of a man whom I've never met and- oh my god. His wand is out. My heart is suddenly in my throat and on instinct, I roll off the bed and barely dodge a spell of some sort- something sounding like 'stupidify.'

I scream as loudly as possible while searching the room for something to defend myself with, but to no avail. Seeing opportunity, I make a run for the bathroom door and lock it, searching for a way to unlock the window, and finally smash it open with my curling iron.

The footsteps coming towards the door alarm me further, and with adrenaline pumping profusely, I climb out of the window, no doubt cutting myself in several places in the process. Once on the ledge, I hear the door slam open as the man comes through, screaming profanities at me, and I quickly climb onto the roof as he attempts to follow me out of the window. I can hear the blood pounding in my head as I slide down the sloped roof, and am almost hit with another spell. I land on a flat bit of the roofing and glance behind me, seeing the much larger man lagging just a bit.

I run to the edge and climb down next to a window, which I promptly smash open with two firm, frantic kicks. I'm suddenly in a long, unlit hall that I've never seen, with no sense of where I'm going, and it is almost entirely dark outside. If I run in either direction, my pursuer will have a clear shot at me in no time.

"Shit." I whisper, and run to my left, back towards what I think is the direction of the dungeons. Only seconds later I hear the crunching of broken glass and duck, expecting spells to fly my way. I finally round a corner and hit a winding stair case, and can hear the man steadily gaining on me.

_I should have gone with Snape to the Great Hall, _I think regretfully as a malevolent spell whistles by my ear. Finally I see a familiar painting and a hidden hall to my left that leads to Snape's classroom. My legs sting and my head is spinning, but I sprint for the opening and see light coming from Snape's open door.

With blood running down my legs and puddling in my shoes, I nearly throw myself through the doorway of Snape's room.

It is empty.

I turn to face what I think will be my death, and attempt to but cannot muster enough air in my lungs to scream. I see a blur-

..&&..

I was only gone for a minute. One bloody, damned, godforsaken minute!! I heard what I thought were screams and went to check on the girl, and by the time I got back to the dungeons all that was left was a blood trail and the echos of regret. If only I had stayed. If only I had gotten to her rooms sooner. If only she hadn't been so damned stubborn.

Now we're all a bustle of activity and the Ministry is, again, involved. But the Headmaster has no trust in their scouts and due process. He knows as well as I that once Voldemort or Lucius or whoever it is that has her finds out she's a useless Muggle, she'll be dead. And he also knows that I cannot let that happen. Damn it all to the depths of hell. Damn girl.

We're practically out of time already.


	14. And Damn The Consequences

**DISCLAIMER:** I am alive, I am writing, and I'm not planning on stopping!

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Fourteen: …And Damn The Consequences**

My lungs feel as though they're no longer working. Despite the ache in my head, I begin mustering images of punctured lungs, and my mind wanders to thoughts of surfactant, physiology, partial pressure of oxygen, and how many brain cells might be sacrificed with only one functioning lung…

I am being carried, my body limp in somebody's arms. Stabbing pain in my left side stands out above the minor pains from cuts and other injuries. I am too afraid to move, unaware of whether or not my beholder is aware of my consciousness, but I _am_ alive.

For how much longer that will be true, I can't be sure.

The person- well, wizard, would be a safe guess at this point- carrying me begins speaking in a harsh whisper, "What in the _bloody hell_ is so important about _her_? Honestly! If we're going to be snatching children from Hogwarts-"

A much more sophisticated-sounding man cuts him off, and I realize by listening carefully that their two hurried sets of footsteps are the only ones I hear, "If you're about to suggest that Potter would've made a more justifiable, valuable target- you may as well shut it. You should know as well as any of us that the charms and spells protecting him-"

"Yes, yes! Charms and spells! And why, exactly, wasn't she under any similar protection, hm? If she's important enough to risk my skin for, breaking in-"

"It was _my_ help that even got you on the grounds, Crabbe, so do stop whining-"

"And it was _I who took the risk!_ The scrappy little bitch had me running through busted windows, even got a cut on my leg, here-_"_

The other man let out an exasperated sigh, from which I garnered that he was likely neither concerned over his cohort's injury nor interested in his (no doubt exaggerated) account of how he got it.

"Crabbe," the other man said, abruptly stopping my carrier's recollection of how fast I ran, "Is this the first time you've kidnapped someone?"

"Well, no, bu-"

"And is it the first time you'll be doing them bodily harm?" His voice inclined sharply on the last word, as if he were getting at a point.

"Well, no." I'm guessing this makes the other man's point, as he says nothing further.

Wait, wait, what…my mind rewinds. I take it in. _Bodily harm. Bodily. Harm_. Now processed, I don't even register surprise, as I had expected as much. But- really? An image of a dimly-lit CIA chamber and water-boarding flashes through my mind- but considering their nature thus far, I don't think my caretakers have plans quite so mild laid out for me.

_Wonderful. Suppose I should start praying the rosary. They think _I _know something _they_ want to know. I don't. Torture and death ensue, someone's going to be writing a letter to my Mom…_It's not as though my **very** forced even breathing will hold out much longer, what with death impending and all- sooner or later, I'm going to have to face these people.

And they're going to kill me.

_Why wouldn't they ask me, come to me? I'm supposed to be their man on the inside. I have access. Lucius and the others have every right to assume that I likely possessed the information they wanted, or at least had means to get it from her. This must be about her bloodline. Are we suddenly using old tactics to recruit new members, leaving me out of the loop? Do they think she's been in hiding, or has defected, or… what, exactly_? I sigh audibly, cradle my head in my hand.

_She's generations from the last dark wizard. The power of her ancestors was at its peak in Dumbledore's early years. Is the plan to kill her simply for-_

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice brings me back to the present- sitting in his office, the Ministry officials gone, brainstorming both motivations and intentions of the culprits.

"Yes, Albus?"

"Quite a period of silence we've shared, but I think now is the time for action."

"Certainly. I agree." I sit up straight, wondering if Dumbledore himself has some genius idea on how to intervene without ruining years of careful planning and hard-won, yet still delicate appearances.

"The obvious, we've covered; this is definitely about her ancestry, about acquiring another asset. Lucius put things into action. They do not yet know she's a muggle, or this much we hope- they certainly did not when whomever it was found her significant enough to _break onto the grounds-_" he said this last bit with an obvious edge of anger, "You're the least likely candidate to retrieve her, but most likely candidate to discover her whereabouts. Thus-" The Headmaster paused for a length, his eyes downcast and reflecting the amount of calculation going on behind them.

"However, it is plausible that in order to stay in good stead with you, you would ask this of me. Which, in actuality, makes me the best candidate for both tasks," I half-state, half-inquire, "All the while keeping my cover intact, though I'll be called upon to defend my loyalty once questioned."

Albus paused. He did not look convinced, but met my eyes when he added, "And to do so, you can easily and honestly reiterate the insignificance of Miss Evans to their larger plan, showing you've actually done it no harm- thereby keeping our Queen in play and preventing our dear girl from becoming a disposable pawn."

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, hardly feeling like humor was appropriate, but went on, "In our chess metaphor for the salvation of the Wizarding World, Albus, I'd prefer not to think of myself as the Queen."

A flicker of a grin from the old man, "Well, I'm sorry old friend, but we both know who the King really is."

I grin despite myself. Damn Potter.

Humor aside, Albus and I spend the next while hatching a plan that, if it goes well, won't end up killing anyone. The weight of responsibility for this whole mess is heavy on me as I leave his office, but I'm stopped by some final words from my co-conspirator.

"And Severus-" He stands at his desk.

"Yes, Albus?" I turn at the staircase.

"As I'm sure you know, haste would serve us… and her."

I nod, and run down the staircase into the brisk darkness, towards the dungeons and the task awaiting me. I know the work of this group of wizards, and somehow I feel her desperation.

I feel as though she's already out of time.

**Author's Notes:** If you're reading this, THANK YOU. Whether you're new to the story or have been waiting the literal _years_ since I've updated, you are wonderful. Four years at my Military College and many personal tragedies later, here I am. And I've missed this, and I've missed you. :) Glad to be back!! See you again soon, and frequently.


	15. What You Don't Know CAN Hurt You

**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own it. Not making money from it. For that, I have my endlessly boring job. Ahh, shweee!

**Note: I know I made promises in October I couldn't keep. You can hate me. It's cool. ;) I still love you no matter what, haha.**

**Also, sorry that some of the timing between Snape's and Tam's POV is a bit off in this one; it was necessary to keep things a little in the dark. The bit of magic Snape does in this one came to me whilst reading Didodikali's "By Any Other Name." Just a fun tidbit. So go read it, it's sweet!**

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Fifteen: What You Don't Know CAN Hurt You**

If I could have somehow known.

If I'd had even the slightest hint of what lied ahead… I mean, I felt, I _knew_ the intrinsic power entwined with the concept of magic. I knew the implications. Or, I thought I did.

Apparently, I hadn't considered how it might be used for evil.

"_Crucio_!"

I scream again, from the pain and mostly from the exhaustion of trying to hold it in so long. I hadn't screamed the first time, or the second. I'm fairly certain that was less due any personal strength, but rather because the pain was doled out in short bursts at first. But now I'm soaked in sweat, my muscles feel like I've just completed three-a-day practice sessions for Volleyball _and _Track, and oh yeah- I'm going to die soon.

I figure I'll humor myself in the meantime.

"You…like…making girls scream this way," I say to my attacker between pants, catching my breath, "Don't you? Really, I think you're just sexually frustrated-"

This time he kicks me, hard. This surprises me, as this 'interrogator' has until now had great preference for his wand- to keep distance from his victims, I'd imagine. Close quarters bother him, which I gathered from my recent time spent in a ball on the cold stone floor. Not once has he gotten in my face, he's just spat the same questions at me, about dark wizards, family motives, hiding amongst muggles.

I had, and have, said nothing. I don't know why, but for some reason my instincts are telling me that keeping my mouth shut is keeping me alive. They think I have information, or at the very least know someone who knows someone who does, and they also must believe I'm a witch.

Every screaming nerve in my body is telling me that if the truth rolls off my tongue, it will be the last thing that ever does. And so he asks me another question, and I spit at his feet.

Wrong choice. His heavy boot connects with the part of my cheekbone closest to my nose, and I simultaneously smell wet dirt from his sole and taste blood. Not satisfied, he kicks me again, this time connecting directly with my mouth. I feel a 'click,' and try not to choke on my own blood as I spit out what is definitely a tooth fragment. My mind wanders from the pain to the dental bill. Oh, _not good._

"Fuck…" I pathetically manage to wheeze out, and my mouth quickly fills with blood. I suddenly decide I hate myself, and my stupid curiosity, and my penchant for trouble, and- most of all- chemistry. The ironic nonchalance of that last thought makes me spurt an ironic giggle, and I brace for the next kick.

My attacker pauses, either from confusion or intrigue I can't figure, but then I hear the reason. Footsteps. From the stone staircase.

With no verbal cue, my assailant steps back, retreating into the shadows as the other man steps forward. As soon as he speaks I recognize his voice as the man speaking as I was carried in to this hell hole- I've heard the superior tone before. It's Lucius Malfoy.

_Freakin' wonnnderful._

"The Cruciatus not loosening your tongue yet, hm?" I'm still only staring at the shiny tips of his no-doubt expensive shoes.

A sharp jab to my already sensitive ribs brings my sharply back to the present.

"Well?" He prompts again. I pause to collect my thoughts, my mind racing to piece something together that might manage to increase the number of painless moments ahead of me, but he takes this as an act of defiance. Quickly hauling me to my knees, he crouches so that we are face-to-face and grabs my chin tightly with one gloved hand, his wand in the other at my neck.

"Let's be clear," He hisses, drawing out the 'r,' "I'm not a man of intimidation like Mr. Crabbe, over there." He gestures with his wand to the corner, and my eyes follow it fearfully. He continues in a low whisper, "No, I'm a man of simple truths. Black and white, you see. And the simple truth here, _Miss Evans_, is that if you don't supply me with the answers I ask for, I will kill you myself."

I believe him.

The fear in my eyes must have been taken as acquiescence, because he roughly shoves my head to the side, releasing me from his vice grip, and pockets his wand. He motions for Crabbe to leave and begins to pace circles around my limp frame. I attempt to conceal the fact that I've been loosening my binds by straightening up and meeting his eyes, trying to make a sort of morbid staring contest out of the whole thing.

"We'll begin somewhere easy." He stops in his tracks and inhales sharply, "Do you know why you're here?"

I'm about to shrug when my horrible need to _always_ answer _every_ question right kicks in. I'm almost certain that, had my hands not been "tied" behind me, I might've raised my hand.

"Voldemort-"

It's all I get out before a bitter, humorless "Ha!" cuts the air. Seeming split between fury and laughter, he spits, "You actually have the impertinence to think that you warrant the attention of the Dark Lord?"

_Oh. Oops. So zero points on that one, huh?_

I can see the gears working, and I get the creeping feeling that he's figuring things out.

It is then that something peculiar happens.

x+-+x

Finding her was not the difficult part. I knew where a less-important interrogation would likely take place. A hide-out of sorts, in the countryside- out of the way, but convenient enough for quick and dirty meetings (or killings, for that matter.) Those who were questioned at this location were often not important enough to be kept alive for very long. Pawns, as the Headmaster would name them. And she would most certainly be considered a pawn in our unfortunate game.

Hopefully, she'd not yet revealed this fact.

The difficult bit would be timing, and dealing with the girl's unpredictability. And of course, I had to complete this task whilst going undetected. Just because this was a less-commonly used meeting area did not mean it had no security.

The questions and doubts I would face later as a result of my actions were another matter. It was lucky enough for Ms. Evans that my 'insolence,' as Malfoy would no doubt interpret it, would not be considered great enough to break trust. Nothing I was doing tonight would put my larger role in jeopardy, I reassured myself.

I apparate just outside of the compound, and I see the small shack which leads to a large sprawl of underground tunnels.

_Let's hope her lack of importance plays towards less security, _I think, reminding myself that in order to find out, I would have to do some reconnaissance first. I pull a piece of folded fabric from my cloak and slip it over me, feeling somewhat childish for having to use this method of concealment. However, knowing the wards, charms, and counterspells that were likely in place, the invisibility cloak _was_ the most practical method of stealth, as the Headmaster reminded me.

I check that I have everything at the ready once more, fingering the two small vials and charmed piece of folded parchment in my right pocket, before undoing the security on the entrance and ducking in. I cautiously head down the first set of stone stairs.

_Easier than I expected so far. Whew._

…_-_-_-…_

Time has stopped. Or…something. I attempt to unbind my hands, but realize the knots are magically bound somehow. _Lovely._

I stand up slowly, avoiding bumping or brushing any open wounds, and move towards the frozen figure of Lucius Malfoy. He stands perfectly still, a sneer contorting his features. I decide that I'm endlessly grateful for whatever has just occurred because the frozen man looks distinctly as though he was about to do something awful. To _me_. After circling his form, I bravely blow air in his face, as if putting out a candle. Wisps of blonde hair move. From him, though, nothing.

_Don't overthink this, _I tell myself. My heart is beating faster than before and my adrenal glands are about to give me a damn heart attack at the prospect of escape.

_Well_, I reason, _now or never._

I dart up the stairs, and to my amazement and movie-like luck, the form of the other man is silhouetted at the top of the long flight, having just opened the door. Paying him no regard, I carefully squeeze through the barely open door, and am suddenly in a large antechamber with a few more chamber doors and several tunnels sprawling from it. My mind races.

_Left is lucky, left is logical…but right is, well, always right. Then again, two go to the left and one goes kind of right, then there's the tunnel right in front of me, which might be my best bet-_

_Oh, Christ._

I run to the right, (I ended up making this decision based on me being right–handed. Logical? Maybe not. I'm no Vulcan.) and immediately hear footsteps and yells in the chamber I've just left. Not having use of my arms is slowing me down, and I can quickly tell I've lost a good amount of blood, because I'm wobbling and nearly running into walls as the tunnel twists. I tell myself that running will keep me alive, so I do. I fucking _run._

I feel like I've been running for only a few seconds, though, when I hear the unique whip-snapping sound of spells bouncing off of the curving walls behind me. Finally, one lands and I feel my right arm and leg go numb. Now I'm limping with only the use of half my limbs, and I clatter to the ground. My whole body is shaking in terror, and I flip onto my back to face my death, yet _again_.

v;--;v

I'm yelling after her that it's me, to slow the bloody hell down, but she clearly can't hear me. So, I do what's reasonable, considering we have about ten seconds until the crafty bit of charmwork I've put over Malfoy and Crabbe (courtesy of one Lily Evans, ironically enough) breaks.

I begin to throw _stupefy_ her way, but aiming is another matter because she's running erratically, and staying just far enough ahead that each spell hits the brick just behind her. I finally use the curvature to my advantage and hit her with a rebounded spell.

_Merlin, she's making this bit difficult. Teenagers _never_ listen._

I catch up to her trembling form, and she only just registers who I am before I'm upon her, knowing we're about to be pursued, right…about…_now._

Oo$oO

I would cry from relief if I had the energy. It's Snape. I was running from the one person who isn't currently trying to kill me. Everything is happening so fast I can't really register it all, and now he's gently but quickly picking me up.

"Can you walk?"

I shake my head in the negative, too frightened to spare my own pride by trying to.

He mumbles a spell and easily hoists me into a buddy-carry over his shoulder, and I take the tiniest second to note what a strong grip he has. He runs only a few meters, seemingly unaffected by my added weight, before blowing open a grate above us with yet another spell. I had not even noticed the trickle of moonlight from the overhead opening.

"Pull yourself up."

I move to sit on his shoulder and reach for the grate with my working limb, but shortly hear the faint patter of frantic footsteps coming our way. Snape's hears it too, and his head snaps in their direction.

Without hesitation, he places his hands on my hips and hoists my body until I'm chest-high out of the opening. He then shifts his grip to just above my knees, and now I'm far enough out of the grate to roll to the side and out of the way.

Without me knowing how he got there, Snape is suddenly picking me up again, this time cradling me in his arms- I'm torn between mortification and fear. Nonetheless, I can't help watching his face. He seems unaware of me, completely focused, his face drawn into a tight mask of concentration.

_Did he jump up to the grate opening by himself? Wow._ I'm actually caught up in awe of this man before we're even entirely safe. Without his diligence I would be dead, I'm certain.

He stops in his tracks. "Stop staring at me, and hold on."

I blush. _Wait, 'hold on?'_ I instinctually grasp tight fistfuls of his clothing.

_POP!_

//++\\

We've made it. The girl was so intent on studying me, she did not realize we were still being pursued. We crossed the threshold of the anti-apparation wards not a second too soon.

I look down at her unconscious form, apparating having apparently pushed her to her limit.

_Muggles._

Her face is mostly covered in dried blood, from her mouth, nose, and a few cuts on her face. Her front tooth is broken off in the middle. I can feel that some of her clothing is soaked in blood. It's fortunate for her that she is by no measure a tiny thing.

How she'll fare now is in the hands of Poppy.

_Is that a tinge of concern, remorse, or both? Ah. Damn._

**Author's Notes:**OHAI! WTFers? I know. I won't fling any excuses your way. I have the next chapter written. I'm on a streak. No, not the nude kind. Christ, get a hold of yourself. I shall edit and post- well- soon. :D I love you for believing in me! ADRIAAAAAAAN!

Wait, what?


	16. In Between the Lines

**DISCLAIMER:** Why does anyone even bother with these? No one is going to sue us, guys. Seriously.

**Note: I promised illustrations. I will not break my promise, but I HAD to post this now, and they are not yet scanned in. Rest assured they'll be up this week.**

**Have I told you all how much I love you? We should get married. You're totally my type.**

**A HUGE thanks to my dear friend and beta, Jess (Imogen Kain on ), for without her skillful editing, daily encouragement, and endless enthusiasm I might have just given up on this story altogether. If you're a Dark Knight fan and love the Joker (which, if you're attracted to characters like Snape, why wouldn't you be?!) it's absolutely MANDATORY that you read her amazing fic "You Can't Spell Slaughter Without Laughter." That is all, carry on!**

**POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES**

**Chapter Sixteen: In ****Between t****he Lines**

My head feels pleasantly fuzzy. If I even have a head. Everything is floating. Warm. I'm only barely aware of myself, in the space between sleep and consciousness, or perhaps life and death, and it is lovely.

_Is this heaven?_

OUCH. NO, NO, MOST DEFINITELY NOT.

I gasp at the pain, of which my body is suddenly and mercilessly making my brain aware, and it sucks me from my reverie in seconds with no apologies.

"She's awake."

_Am I ever__… _

"What…" I mumble this inquiry, noting how dry my mouth is with displeasure. My chapped, busted lips make it painful to speak, and I'm certain I must appear as though I just had a run-in with Chris Brown. I lick my lips in a vain attempt to moisten them and feel the distinct gap where a portion of my front tooth should be. I let out a long sigh. _Damn. I guess my redneck roots are inescapable._

"How are you feeling?" A voice near my side erupts, and I'm only now aware that there are people here. Two. No, make that three. Snape is partially concealed behind the curtain next to my gurney; I see his outline cast against the material by the sunlight. The mere knowledge of his presence makes my heart quicken its pace. In the same instant, the scent that is so definitively _him_ reaches me, and I take in a deep breath through my nose. His scent is tinged with another, however, one who's source is in much closer proximity to me.

Dumbledore, perched on the end of my bed, is taking up more space than is polite and I'm starting to get a touch crowded. He certainly makes me feel important, though, being around: waiting for me to gain consciousness for… uh, how long?

"How long was I out?" My own voice sounds foreign to my ears, rough, like I've swallowed sand. Which might actually be an improvement to how the inside of my mouth tastes at this moment.

Madam Pomfrey stops busying herself with a cabinet of odd-looking bottles and brings one to my bedside. "Two days, my dear. And it would have been longer without…"

Dumbledore gives her a significant look and she promptly changes the subject.

_Two days???_

"Yes, well try and think of it as a long nap, Miss Evans. Now that we've satisfied your query, please indulge mine: How are you feeling?"

Oh. Right. My brain still feels a little foggy- I had forgotten his inquiry.

"Fine. I'm… uh, no, no wait," I toss aside the default answer as how _awful_ I'm feeling really sets in, "I actually feel pretty horrible. Uh, my head, and…" I bring my hands up to explore my face and I feel the swelling and torn skin from a night gone horribly awry.

_Wow. My lips must look like Lisa Rinna's._

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I'm suddenly very grateful that Snape isn't near enough to see my busted face in the harsh light of day.

_God,_ _I'm vain enough to be thinking of how I look right now._ I inwardly chastise myself but my teenaged sensitivity to humiliation allows me to continue feeling embarrassed to be so… exposed and vulnerable in front of everyone.

_Particularly Snape_, I remind myself.

"…and my side-" I lift my gown to reveal purple, yellow and red-tinged skin, along with smaller cuts and bruises elsewhere. I decide not to continue my morbid exploration, and just sum things up.

"Uh, I don't feel too hot."

I hear Snape let out a scoff from behind the curtain, but no one save me pays him any mind.

"No, I don't imagine that you would," Dumbledore proffers with a twinkling Father Christmas smile, the kind that, on him, lacks the creepiness it takes on when projected from the faces of those 'come sit on my lap' Mall Santas.

"Though you are in much better shape now than you were when Severus arrived with you on the grounds. We are fortunate for his timely action. And you are quite lucky for Madame Pomfrey's exceptional skills, else you might not have woken up with everything put back together so well." His lighthearted tone is something I can't seem to mirror at the moment, particularly considering the subject matter, though it certainly has the intended effect in easing tensions.

His words register a moment later. _Wait- did he just say…_

"Put _back_ together?"

At this point the stout witch steps closer to my bed. "Yes, you had a few cracks and breaks here and there, along with some nasty hairline fractures in your cheekbone and jaw, but nothing too serious. And now that you're awake, I can take care of that tooth… Open wide."

I oblige without hesitation, mulling over her words. I'm torn between 'ouch' and 'wow' and 'gross.'

_Adrenaline does wonders. I knew I was injured, but… whew. Well, could have been worse, I suppose. They could've forced me to watch re-runs of _The Hills_._ I scowl at the thought of Spencer's creepy flesh-colored beard, and realize I'm going off on a completely inappropriate tangent.

"All better."

I run my tongue over my teeth again, and, as if by magic--wait, no, actually _by_ magic--my tooth has mended itself. Sweet.

_These people must not have to deal with dental bills. Then again, they are English, so…_

My mind manages to conjure a somewhat pertinent question, thus putting an end to my wandering, ill-mannered, off-subject inner-monologue.

We've only spoken of my health but nothing has been said of what exactly happened, of why or how or who; I'm curious and worried and unsettled. The nagging feeling that they're purposefully skirting these issues compels me to break the silence despite the discomfort.

"What else… uh, what's going on?" Huh. It seems I've lost the ability to eloquently express my curiosity at the moment.

Dumbledore frowns and turns away from me. "Oh dear, Poppy, has she suffered some memory loss as well?"

_Very cute._

I sigh and shake my head. "No, you know what I mean! Why did this happen? Have we investigated? Do you guys have some sort of magical police squad or does everyone just run amuck like it's the damned roller derby?"

The blank stares that meet me drive me to be more specific.

"I know the 'who,' for the most part, and the 'how' is very clear as my ribs will tell you, but… there's more to this, isn't there? I mean, someone doesn't just kidnap and beat the hell out of a muggle for no good reason, right?"

The silence hangs in the air for a moment too long, and I'm about to throw a teenaged fit of hormonal proportions over the constant secrecy, but before I can bake up the crazy cakes, the curtain to my right flies open.

Severus stands there, gaze fixed on the floor, eyebrows tensely furrowed either by default or from thought. He is dressed in his usual black woolen slacks, but is wearing a deep green button-down sleeved shirt in place of his usual wrist-to collar tunic. He has rolled the sleeves up, exposing his long, toned forearms. This glimpse of the flesh beneath the cloth reveals a few pleasant surprises: He clearly has more muscle mass than one might expect, though his lanky appearance belies any such bulk. Adding to this decidedly masculine detail is the veritable _blanket_ of scars, nicks and burns covering his exposed flesh- doubtless the result of years of potion-making, dueling and I can only imagine what else. Finally, despite the pallor of his facial complexion, he actually does maintain a tinge of color on his arms; I wouldn't go so far as to call it a tan, but his arms lack the near-translucence of his face.

Just observing him, watching the sinews and muscles of his forearms contract as he reaches up to scratch his temple, red-lines my libido and I'm suddenly on a mental tangent. I try to keep my expression neutral as I'm vividly imagining what those arms would feel like around my waist, how one adept finger would feel running across my lower lip…

_Oh dear. _I'm not shocked to find myself reacting so strongly to him, and I briefly wonder if blushing shows through bruises.

With my seconds-long fantasy complete, I concentrate on keeping my visual assessment confined to the more appropriate region of his face.

His usually elegant, masculine face carries with it shadows and a drawn character it heretofore had lacked. The lids of his eyes droop almost imperceptibly, but the eyes themselves have lost none of their universally attractive depth and intellect. Though his body language communicates that he likely has not slept, his presence is still commanding.

I shift uncomfortably in my bed and surreptitiously hike up my hospital gown to show more leg.

oO*Oo

Her capacity to bemoan her existence is limitless. I myself haven't slept an hour, but you don't see me complaining, do you? Though I suppose I've contradicted myself by doing just that, even if the grievance remains part of my inner-monologue. Well, the girl should take notes; learn to suffer in silence. It's a life skill.

I was by her bed the entire time, parting only to brew potions which would speed her recovery and alleviate her inter-cranial swelling. I've slept in a threadbare armchair in the infirmary the past two nights; well, less _sleeping_, more _restless observing_. It had gotten to the point where even the potent combination of concoctions Poppy had on hand were not working quickly or effectively enough, yet requesting my help was never necessary. I had already begun by the time my skills were required.

What angers me even more than my responsibility in the matter, no matter how downplayed by Dumbledore and Poppy, is the pointlessness of it all. I understand that kidnapping, terrorizing, and murdering muggles and wizards alike is the _modus operandi_ of this--_our_--group, but the girl should never have played a part in that. Regrettably, what _should_ happen seldom determines what _does_ happen, a lesson paid for in blood many times over. She had no tangible ties to the magical world until we brought her here. _We_ made her a target. Hardly one worth _kidnapping_, but in desperate times, people will take what they can get.

And these are _absolutely_ desperate times.

And now, finally, she's awake, and (much to my… _our_ relief) seemingly well. But instead of satiating her need to know _everything_ and simply divulging the details to her, Dumbledore chooses to keep silent. Perhaps he's concerned that the truth will upset her, but such is life and we would be underestimating the girl by coddling and insulating her from reality.

Typically I understand when Albus plays things close to the chest. But this? It's pointless. It's all pointless. And it's _infuriating_ me_._

Dumbledore deflects the girl's questions again, but she persists. I listen from my place behind the curtain.

"No, you know what I mean! Why did this happen? I know the 'who,' for the most part, and the 'how' is very clear- as my ribs will tell you, but… there's more to this, isn't there? I mean, someone doesn't just kidnap and beat the hell out of a muggle for no good reason, right?"

The silence irritates me. There's not much to tell, so why not just _tell her?!_

I finally step forward and forcefully throw the curtain aside. I gaze at the ground, not wanting my frustration to become glaringly evident before I have the opportunity to properly channel it. I do not want Miss Evans thinking it is directed at her.

There is a long moment before I speak, and I feel the young woman's eyes intently upon me. Her stare is bordering on a gawk, and it dawns on me that I must appear a great deal more casual than she is accustomed to. She was not expected to wake so soon, and so I find myself dressed-down, under the scrutinizing eyes of a hormonal teenager who most definitely regards me as more than just an authority figure, of this much I am aware.

_Yet another ideal situation in which I find myself._

In my attempt to keep my eyes downcast while I gather my thoughts, I've fixed my gaze on the thin mattress she occupies. It is due to this that I catch her hand brushing up the hem of her hospital gown, and I quickly fix my eyes to hers, wondering at the seemingly accidental gesture.

I'm met only with a look of confusion coupled with innocence, which seems too purposeful to be anything but a put-on. Honestly… what is she on about? I force my thoughts to turn elsewhere, _immediately. _I'll examine my unexpected reaction to that later.

Several long seconds have elapsed since my temperamental entrance, but all eyes are still expectantly on me.

_That's my cue._

"On the contrary, I'm afraid that sometimes they do 'beat the hell' out of muggles for no good reason_ at all."_

She is visibly startled by the candid admission, which apparently shakes her from whatever reverie the young lady was indulging.

"What?"

A _question_ is the first regard she gives me after _everything_. How _predictable. _I fight to control my facial expression, attempting to prevent the commonplace and rather habitual sneer from emerging.

I can see that her thick skull, once again completely intact, has resumed doing its job. This will take some explaining… and the explaining will require patience, my reservoir of which is nearly depleted.

"Do you remember when we went to the ministry?" I begin, trying to construct a clear and complete explanation in hopes of avoid incessant questioning.

"Yeah…"

_Good. She's following so far. That was the easy part._

"And you saw the tastelessly exaggerated newspaper headline you weren't supposed to see?"

"Okay, yes. About my ancestors being--" she stops mid-sentence upon seeing my annoyed expression.

I sigh deeply before continuing. "Well, I imagine Lucius…" I pause, close my eyes and force myself to calm down and _think_. I cannot allow rash words to worsen this situation. I make what I hope is reassuring eye contact with Ta… with _Miss Evans_ before continuing.

"I imagine the train of thought here being one of 'why not' rather than 'why.' Your bloodline is obviously of interest, however small that interest may be, and the fleeting media attention was enough to catch the wrong watchful eye. I sincerely doubt you were even brought to the attention of the Dark Lord--" at this I hear a chuckle, and realize that at the mention of the Dark Lord's title, her rapt attention has turned into an entirely inappropriate fit of giggles.

She notices my lack of amusement and explains between breaths, "It just sounds- ha- uh, so…so _foreboding_, heh, like, ah, like a bad science fiction movie, you know? Oh, _THE DARK LORD!_ Ah! Fear my wrath and all that, you know. Funny."

I don't break eye contact as I drawl, "I assure you, it is most definitely _not_ funny."

"Although you admire my sense of humor in light of the situation?" She fights back a grin and my blood pressure leaps to dangerous levels.

_Leave it alone. Move on. Count to ten._

But I find that I cannot let her off so easily, and venture to provide a very edited and _incredibly_ succinct snapshot of the larger picture here.

"If you knew how many muggles, not to mention good witches and wizards have died at his hands, I doubt you'd be quite so light-hearted at the prospect of someone so evil that even the _mention_ of his true name is considered a taboo."

Her grin falls and she swallows hard, embarrassed if not a bit ashamed. Well. Good.

I let the seriousness sink in and ignore the disapproving glance Albus levels at me before going on, "Essentially, all signs pointed to you being an asset, and a plan, however hastily concocted, was set in motion to acquire you. I can tell you that this has been the slow season for muggle torture and inducing general terror on the magical world. This is largely because people have become more careful; 'battened down the hatches,' so to say."

I shift my weight and turn my eyes to the windows, coming to the end of the explanation I've been mulling over for the past couple of days.

"The resulting situation leaves us with a group of bored Death Eaters who haven't come across any new or useful intelligence in quite some time, who have lost members to dismemberment and death, and who want most desperately to be the one who pleases their master. Thus, circumstances created the perfect climate for _you_ to seem interesting. And so…" I let myself trail off, as everyone preset knew the rest.

**..$..**

You've got to be. Fucking. Kidding me.

I'm still somewhat embarrassed after my chastising from Snape, but my rather unexpected anger trumps that for the time being.

"That's it? They wanted to impress the boss, so they took a shot in the dark because maybe, just maybe, I'd either _be_ someone useful or _lead_ them to something that was?"

Dumbledore stands, finally, and speaks, clearly in an attempt to mitigate the mounting tension, if not to wrap up the conversation. "Yes, I'm afraid that such is the conclusion we've come to after exhaustive retrospective consideration. And, dear, I'm so very sorry."

My eyebrows shoot up at this.

"Sorry?! Don't be sorry. _You_ didn't boot me in the face." I hear Snape mumble something about my eloquence as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Ignoring him, I continue.

"In fact, quite the opposite. Without you guys I'd probably be in a ditch somewhere. Or a…gutter, or something. D' you guys even have gutters?"

My attempt at my usual humor comes off as a feeble imitation, at best. I'm still struggling to choke down what I've been told.

_I was kidnapped and nearly murdered on a _hunch_? And a bad one, no less? What the hell is going on in this world that shit like this happens?!_

Which brought to mind another, equally important query: _What are these people facing when they wake up every day?_

The possible answers make me shudder.

I also realize something else, something I'd been blissfully ignorant of: I am being a self-centered bitch. I mean. Really.

I look around the room and see, for the first time _really_ see, how exhausted and worn everyone looks. Not just like they haven't slept the past few nights… more like they haven't _really _rested in years. And I'm suddenly certain that this is dreadfully close to the truth.

I sigh at my uselessness given the circumstances. I allow Madam Pomfrey to poke and prod me for a moment before she's satisfied I'm not going to pass out or something equally humiliating, and she takes her leave of us. I have nothing useful to impart, so I mull over the new information aloud even at the potential of sounding redundant.

"So… they thought you were protecting someone or something that could be used against them, but it never occurred to them that you might be protecting someone _from_ them. They didn't consider that I might _not_ be magical."

Snape rejoins the conversation, stepping closer to my bed once Madam Pomfrey has completely gone.

His proximity is making my palms sweat… in a good way. I really hope I'm the only one who can hear my much accelerated heartbeat.

"I'm certain it was considered. I'm also sure they found it unlikely, as we do not have an historical habit of ushering muggle teenagers into our midst, as you might imagine."

I might.

They seem to be giving me time to process everything, Dumbledore ready to field further questions, and Snape looking somewhat impatient and distractingly sexy…ah. Damnit, _focus_.

"So what now? Is anything going to be done about them?" Even as the question leaves my lips, I know the answer. If there were some way to foil or deter this group, I sincerely doubt things would have gotten this far. It strikes me as horribly ironic that for all of its advantages and abilities, the wizarding world falls prey to common terrorism. I suppose there is no society or group, no matter how fantastical, completely invulnerable to the evils of corruption and power.

They seem to be deciding how to answer me, so I entreat further.

"Does this change _anything_?" This must be an easier question, as Dumbledore stands to address the room at large, taking on a certain air of formality. I straighten up.

"The answer to that depends on one's perspective, Miss Evans. In reference to the ongoing conflict and our war efforts, our situation remains essentially unaffected either for the worse or for the better. This is not to say your ordeal is somehow trivial or insignificant, please understand. This violation adds to the disheartening tally of attacks which have hit home for us, and more disturbingly can be counted among the very few offenses which have breached our borders. As such, we are taking action to reinforce off-season security measures, the failure for which I take full and personal responsibility."

Woah. I'm dumbstruck by his way with words, and shocked at the weight of them. _War effort. Tally of attacks_. They _have_ been downplaying the crisis surrounding them, of this I'm now certain.

Dumbledore comes to rest before me, standing tall with his hands folded in front of him.

"For you, however… well, our involvement seems to have already had some rather inexcusable consequences- I'm afraid…" His pause here takes on a dreadful significance, and as I watch him search for the right words to verbalize whatever is next, I grow wary.

I think I'm starting to understand the source of the tip-toeing and averted gazes. They're worried my fragile little muggle ass is more trouble than it's worth… I'm being sent home. My uselessness has been confirmed and, to top it off, I've endangered one of their indispensable professors. Will they wipe my memory? I don't even waste time wondering if that's possible, only if they trust me so little that they might resort to it. Suddenly scared of where this might be going, I object, trying to downplay the whole debacle.

"Your 'involvement?' _Inexcusable_ consequences? Pfft, come on, Snape is safe, I'm fine now, it's hardly a big de-"

"Hardly a big _deal_?" Snape interjects, incredulous. "You were nearly killed!"

Dumbledore raises a hand, halting our ensuing argument before it can escalate. I fold my arms defensively and stare at the floor. Great. I guess my fun is over, what with a war on and all.

"I'm afraid that the issue of your safety leaves no room for further discussion," Dumbledore says with a note of regret. "The only prudent course of action is for you to return home, where further unwanted attention is unlikely to follow."

Well, fuck. I nod in surrender, and move to stand so I can pack my things.

"Where, pray tell, do you think you're going?" Snape asks, a bit testily.

I throw him a look communicating where he can shove it, and give the obvious answer. "Home, of course. I need to pack my things."

Dumbledore replies calmly before Snape can throw in some scathing remark. "Oh, dear, you didn't think we were going to leave you on your mother's doorstep, battered and bruised, without so much as a tour of the grounds did you?"

Oh. Well, I suppose that would have been utterly rude.

"No, I guess not…"

"No, no, of course not. You are safe for the time being, and until you've healed completely there's no need to rush you home."

I can't be sure, but I think Snape just rolled his eyes. Ugh, constantly with the attitude.

Dumbledore bids me lie down and pulls my bedsheet up in a grandfatherly gesture, patting my hand kindly after I am settled. He glances at his wrist to check the hour, despite the lack of any timepiece there. I grin.

"Oh, look at the time. I sincerely apologize, but my presence is required elsewhere at the moment, my dear. Rest assured that whatever questions remain, Professor Snape is most capable and willing to answer them. Get some rest, and I look forward to seeing you at our group supper tomorrow evening, following the return of most of the staff. Good day."

With that, he whooshes towards the door with more energy than I would have thought possible and Snape is on his heels, doubtless avoiding the questions he assumes I have. He's correct in that assumption, but as he's made it clear that I'm _such_ a nuisance, I'll get answers on my own.

Alone in the medical ward, feeling unwanted, misplaced, achy and somewhat useless, I close my eyes and pray sleep comes.

*&^^&*

Nearly done cataloging my list of depleted stores, I blindly dip my quill into the crystal ink-well, only to find my next word appearing not in ink, but in oatmeal. I wipe away the still warm apple cinnamon oats with the nearest handkerchief, look up to where my bowl of oatmeal lies, half-eaten and mocking me, and I sigh deeply.

_Yet more evidence of your descent into madness._

Deciding I've performed my quota of menial tasks and purposeless work for the day, I leave my desk and resolve to visit the library.

I have found myself horribly preoccupied as of late. While the impending task of explaining myself to Lucius and answering to my fellow Death Eaters remains a priority, there is nothing to be done until I am contacted by my peers. There is little risk of news concerning the ordeal reaching the Dark Lord, as the catastrophic failure would incite repercussions- a result easily avoidable by simple omission.

The source of my distraction is more complicated than the matter of Death Eater damage control, I'm afraid. Despite the lack of any remaining tangible threat to her, my unreasonably exaggerated anxiety concerning the girl and her well being lingers. Simply conjuring the image of her, broken and dying in my arms that first night disturbs me as few things can anymore.

Now, still, a most unsettling, twisting sensation persists in my gut, as though some malevolent creature has invaded my viscera with the intent of splitting my focus regardless of the task.

Two long days have passed since Tamara regained consciousness. I've paid several visits to the infirmary to see how she's faring, each time ensuring she was asleep before doing so. Poppy says she'll be allowed to return to her quarters this afternoon, and that she's well enough to be permitted grounds privileges. Which, of course, means I will have the distinct honor of keeping an eye out that she doesn't manage to put herself directly in harm's way, as she is wont to do. It would not shock me in the least to find her swimming amongst the foul creatures in the lake or wandering about the Forbidden Forest, but not before she's painted a target on her back and attached aromatic foodstuffs to her person. I would find this image humorous, were it not for her recent and rather sobering brush with death.

She's under my skin and I cannot figure out why.

_You can, you simply won't. _

Refusing to visit while she's conscious, speaking down to her during our last encounter… Deliberately distancing myself is the only manner of coping I can conjure at the moment. She's upset the natural order of things, and still thinks the whole thing is a big joke.

_Is that really the only reason you find yourself perturbed by her?_

I find the question takes me by surprise, sprung on me by some part of my own mind grappling with my carefully constructed view of myself. I can sense the issue I've been refusing to address creeping in at the edges of my psyche.

The image of her in the infirmary bed jumps to mind, and with it my casual and entirely inappropriate observation at the time of how her olive-skinned legs remind me of Lily's; athletic, long.

_You're angry because she finds you attractive._

It is often imparted to children that 'honesty is the best policy.' I beg to differ, as lying to myself is a daily necessity, not to mention adherence to the truth in my daily interactions would earn me a slow, painful death- and I wouldn't be the only one.

I suppose my point is some truths are better left unsaid, just as some gut feelings are better left unexamined.

_And you're angry with yourself because you might reciprocate._

This unbidden thought makes me certain that my uneasiness has little to do with any unidentified threat. It's nonsense, though, I reassure myself. She is young enough to be my student. However I cannot recall being so fond of a pupil-

_Stop it._

I stop walking and notice my feet have, yet again, betrayed me. I am most certainly not at the library, my intended destination. Self deceit can only go so far. The perfect testament to that is my recent tendency to leave my quarters for one location, and yet somehow find myself arriving at the very place I find myself now.

I sign and look up at the entrance to the infirmary.

_Damn._

**Author's Notes:** OHAI again! This took forever, and of course I'm sorry as usual. I was utterly stuck, and completely unsure of how to communicate what needed to be said, not to mention scared to death about finally taking the story where I've been steering it for a while now. The next chapter is imminent, along with the overdue sketches. Have faith! ;)


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